


where we're headed for

by stillicide_snow



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Autistic David Rose, Heist, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:55:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 53,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28801674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillicide_snow/pseuds/stillicide_snow
Summary: “So did you start wearing all black because you’re an international cat burglar or did you base your career choice on your wardrobe?”Or, David used to be a jewel thief. Allegedly. He doesn't do that anymore.Patrick works in insurance, and he has a few questions about those recent break-ins...An AU in which David leaves Schitt's Creek for good at the end of season one, and then his past starts to catch up to him.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 115
Kudos: 102





	1. it was all i ever wanted

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I first had the idea for this just over a year ago, and it stuck around for two months before I started writing. Then it took another two months to show it to anyone. It's finally finished, and chapters will be published once a week.
> 
> I am so incredibly grateful to @lovely_narcissa, without whom this fic simply would not exist. Thank you so, so much for your advice, encouragement, and comma-wrangling, as well as for watching the show after my endless pestering. You have gone above and beyond 💙
> 
> Massive thank yous also to @Distractivate, @fishyspots, @LikeRealPeopleDo, @MoreHuman, @musictoyourlips, @rockinhamburger, and @swat117 for all your encouragement over the months!
> 
> Work title from "Big White House" by Nerina Pallot. Spotify playlist is [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0WuTyMPgD4uqBSs04JzQlH)!

“So did you start wearing all black because you’re an international cat burglar or did you base your career choice on your wardrobe?”

David, to his credit, does not scream.

Of course he doesn’t. He’s highly capable and even more highly respected; he slips in and out of museums and penthouses without a trace. He is utterly unflappable, calm, and -

He does scream, a little bit.

When he’s recovered from his very dignified non-scream, he turns to look for the source of the voice that startled him and finds an Excel spreadsheet come to life. The guy is his age, give or take, and clean-cut in a way that David didn’t think was possible for actual human beings to be. His brown hair is cropped short and he’s dressed in a blue ensemble that David estimates cost eighty dollars max, and he’s looking at David with an openness that instantly sets him on edge.

“I’m Patrick Brewer”, he says, extending a hand. “I work for Thacker and Scott Insurance.”

David does not shake his hand. He knows of Thacker and Scott, and he knows why they have a representative here, in a quiet park in one of the nicer parts of Toronto. He knows why this guy has sought him out.

“We have a number of clients in the area”, the guy says, and looks at David expectantly.

"Mm," David says, "So you're here to investigate the recent spate of burglaries for the great and good?"

 _Spate_ , David thinks, irritated with himself. _Who in real life says “spate”?_

The guy - Patrick - looks thrown for a moment. David hopes he'll breeze past it, but instead he says, "Yes, our clients are very distressed by the spate in question," and _fantastic_ , he's definitely holding back a laugh, "so I'm here on behalf of Thacker and Scott Insurance to work out where several hundred thousand dollars' worth of jewelry might have gone."

David can't read this guy at all and it's making him uncomfortable. His voice sounds close to teasing, but his words and dress sense seem far too professional for that. But he’s definitely smiling a little and his eyes, flicking over David’s face, are warm with amusement.

Then David’s brain starts working like it’s supposed to and reminds him to say something to this affable-looking man who is, presumably, about to get him sent to prison.

“Well, best of luck”, he says, “But it seems pretty careless of them to lose all those jewels.”

Patrick sits down beside David (which, no thank you) and tells him, “Thacker and Scott believes you’re responsible.” His tone is clipped, brusque, and David misses the teasing note from before. He misses Patrick’s eyes on him too: he’s sat straight-backed and confident, hands folded on top of a sensible leather satchel, his gaze taking in the park around them. It’s fall, and cool enough that the morning's frost still lingers. The leaves are turning, reds and oranges gorgeous against the cold blue of the sky.

“Oh”, David breathes. It’s all he can manage.

“You were a suspect in a string of burglaries a few years ago but it seems they couldn’t make it stick. And now you’re here, in the middle of a neighborhood suffering its own series of break-ins - they make that two strikes against you.” He looks expectantly at David.

“I don’t know what that means.”

The corners of Patrick’s mouth quirk upward for a moment.

“The police have been liaising with my firm and they’re putting together a case against you. But Thacker and Scott would prefer it if you could help us recover the missing items”, he says.

“I see”, David says, “So you're here to politely ask me to help you find some jewels, save you money, and then send me to prison? That's a hard pass.”

“Your cooperation would be noted.”

“Compelling as your offer is, I excel as a solo artist. Like Beyoncé. So you're going to have to tell your boss that you will be tracking these jewels down without my assistance”, he pauses, “Not that I'd be much help.”

Patrick's eyes are fixed on his own now. David wants to look away, to pretend this isn't happening, but he holds Patrick's gaze. His eyes are a rich brown, a few shades darker than his hair, and intense as they bore into David's.

He swallows. Patrick's eyes flick downward for a moment, away from David's, and he lets out a breath.

“You mean you didn't do it?”, Patrick asks.

“Oh, my God, imagine? I steal a diamond tennis bracelet and then sit around waiting to be arrested?” Patrick at least has the decency to look chagrined at that, and David softens a little. “No, I didn't do it.”

“Any idea who did?”, Patrick asks, and there's that gentle tugging at the corners of his mouth again, something oddly teasing in his voice that David wants so badly to hear more of that he can't help himself, can't stop himself from saying -

“Oh, you're going to have to buy me lunch first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Chapter title from "Oh Berlin" by Nerina Pallot. I'm on Tumblr @flashbastard - come say hi!


	2. and watch something grow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Juno" by Nerina Pallot - Spotify playlist can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0WuTyMPgD4uqBSs04JzQlH)!

The thing is David has been here before, when he was younger and reckless and (he’ll concede) more arrogant. He hadn’t yet seen how easily everything could be swept out from under him. It had started out the way most of his bad ideas had: a combination of booze, pills and a desire to make himself indispensable to other people. There had been Alexis’ klepto friends, and at least one questionable ex; stealing jewelry was just something he seemed to have a knack for, whatever that was worth. He’d done it for a couple of years, on and off, and he’d been good at it, but had stopped following the string of break-ins Patrick had referenced. He’d been stupid, going for more ostentatious pieces than usual in a last, desperate attempt to keep Sebastien Raine thinking he was interesting - he’d been careless. And he’d been caught.

He remembers sitting in a police interview room, gradually losing his sense of time. He remembers asking for a lawyer, wondering if Sebastien knew where he was and knowing that he wouldn’t care if he did. He remembers thinking _if you go to prison, who will Alexis call when she needs help?_

He doesn’t know who made the call to the District Attorney or Police Commissioner or whoever. He hopes it was Alexis, hopes their parents have no idea about that part of his life. There’s only so many times he can stand to disappoint them.

But the stakes were much lower then, Alexis’ sporadic need for temporary passports aside. There was money and there were connections, and between the two most problems sorted themselves out fairly quickly.

Then he moved to Schitt’s Creek.

David's still not sure he’s completely processed that his family will never be those people again. He knows his mother hasn't: he saw her face that night they were trying to sell the town, saw how desperate this was making her, and he thought _enough_. He's never been good with change and he doesn't want to think about who he would have become if he'd stayed in Schitt's Creek. Maybe he would have grown accustomed to it, although he obviously couldn't have been happy there, only desensitized. But he didn't want that, so he ran.

He's only been in Toronto for a few weeks, though he gets texts from either Stevie or Alexis most days. They're clearly checking up on him and he hasn't called them on it yet. It's nice to know that they're concerned, even if neither of them would ever admit to it. He still isn't used to this - to a sister who checks on him, rather than the other way around, or a friend who asks how he is just to ask, although admittedly Stevie does so in the most unsentimental way possible. But it's… nice. To know that they care. They would care if he were to end up in prison this time around.

Patrick takes him to a coffee shop a few streets along from where they met and grabs a table in the corner. The decor is inoffensive, if a little bland for David’s tastes, and the place is quiet enough that they’ll be able to talk uninterrupted.

Patrick looks at him across the small table.

“So are you going to tell me who did this?” He looks expectant.

“Mm, no”, David says, tipping his chin upward, “Food first, criminal masterminds second. I will have a blueberry muffin, thank you so much, and a caramel macchiato, skim, two sweeteners, and a sprinkle of cocoa powder.”

He's being an asshole, he _knows_ he's being an asshole, but it's easier to do that than be frank with Patrick, although there's a tightness in his chest that wants him to do just that. He never did have Alexis' knack for self-preservation.

“Ah, so the savings in recovered jewelry will be outweighed by buying you pastries”, Patrick says, “I'm glad we've cleared that up.”

“Okay”, and David is caught out by this, although it thrills him a little that Patrick is pushing back, “Do you not want my help, or - ?”

“No, no”, Patrick says, and the smirk is back in his voice, “One caramel macchiato coming up.”

“Skim!”, David calls after him, but if Patrick hears him he doesn't respond. He heads up to the barista, and David watches as he leans against the counter. He'd shucked his jacket off as they'd sat down, and the sleeves of his pale blue button-up are rolled up to the elbows. He has very nice forearms, David notes - and then forces himself to look away, because that train of thought is risky even when the guy in question doesn't hold your freedom in his very capable-looking hands.

Unfortunately nothing in the coffee shop proves interesting for long, and David soon finds his eyes tugged back toward Patrick. He's at the front of the queue now, and talking happily with the barista. She smiles at him, dimple showing, and David sees the moment her customer service smile melts into a real one as she laughs at something Patrick has said. It almost pleases him, in a slightly savage way, to see that Patrick is clearly like this with everyone. He teases David because that’s the way he is; David isn’t anything special to Patrick. He needs to remember that.

Especially now Patrick has his back to David while he fetches napkins and David has a clear view of his shoulders.

“One caramel macchiato, skim, two sweeteners, and a sprinkle of cocoa powder.” David is pulled from his reverie by Patrick depositing a coffee, perfectly made despite his ridiculous order, on the table between them. It isn’t in a to-go cup, which David guesses means they’ll be staying in the warm for this conversation. Or maybe Patrick just forgot his eco-friendly Thermos and didn’t want a disposable cup because of the environmental impact. He seems the considerate type, David thinks, until - “You wanted a lemon and white chocolate muffin, right?”

David doesn’t know what his face does at that, but he thinks it must be loudly disapproving, because Patrick grins and sets a blueberry muffin down beside the coffee. He’s tempted to complain but it’s been a very stressful morning, and Patrick got his over-complicated order right, and he’s hungry. His eyes close as he takes a long sip of coffee, letting out a soft noise of satisfaction, and he opens them to see Patrick looking back over at the counter. The tops of his ears are flushed pink.

David sets the coffee down for a moment and Patrick clears his throat before asking, “So. Theories?”

“There’s someone I think is likely to be involved,” David says, instantly uncomfortable again, “but I’d need to see the crime scene to be sure.”

“I have photos from the last target but one,” Patrick nods, “and I’m sure we can get some from last night if -”

“No,” David says, “I need to be there. I know what to look for.”

“You want me to take you - our prime suspect - into a penthouse apartment to browse an active crime scene for evidence you think the police have missed?”

“Yes.”

Patrick is looking at him again, dark eyes intense, and David resists the urge to fidget. Instead he meets Patrick’s gaze, feeling like he’s on display. He lets the moment stretch on, his heart in his throat, before Patrick nods and that stupid smirk returns.

“Okay, David.”

* * *

It feels like a while since David called this part of town home, even though it’s hardly been any time at all. But he feels very aware of how he holds himself as Patrick leads them toward an apartment block a few minutes' walk from the coffee shop. The sun is bright but without much warmth, and David resists the urge to pull his jacket closed. Instead he stands as tall as he can, trying to telegraph nonchalance and total authority at the same time. It's tricky; it's something he got out of the habit of when he was in Schitt's Creek, although he suspects he was never that good at it to begin with. He's always had to perform nonchalance, which rather defeats the point of it. He feels so aware of other people's eyes on him, especially now he’s beside Patrick, who is back to that unnervingly unreadable silence from before. Patrick doesn’t seem at all self-conscious as they walk together: he moves with purpose in a way that is neither forceful nor delicate, but manages to be quietly graceful. He seems to trust his body in a way that feels alien to David, but it’s - nice. To watch. He likes watching Patrick.

The apartment building gives no sign, from the outside, that a burglary happened last night. It’s clearly not a cheap place so he supposes they want the appearance of normality to hold up for as long as possible.

Patrick must have already been here because the doorman lets him past without issue. As David approaches, however, the guy frowns.

“He's with me”, Patrick offers, “He's a consultant”, but the doorman shakes his head.

“If you want him up there with you, you'll need the okay from the police. He has to wait here, though.”

“It's fine”, David says. Patrick looks frustrated, and David reaches for his arm in what he hopes is a soothing gesture. But Patrick startles at the touch, and David pulls his hand away like he’s been burned. “It’s fine. You get the okay from them and come get me.”

“All right. You’ll stay here?”

Patrick still looks hesitant, so David nods and gestures for him to go. He feels like he’s swatting at bugs; he has no idea what to do with his hands. Patrick turns to look at him for a moment as he enters the building, and David actually _waves_. Oh God.

David has never been good at either following instructions or staying still. Left alone on the street in front of the apartment building, he shifts his weight from foot to foot. He nods uncomfortably at the doorman. The doors to the foyer are a dark reflective glass, so he can’t see in to judge how Patrick’s conversation is going. He exhales a long breath. Above him, several floors up, he can see a police officer out on one of the apartment balconies. They’re called back inside and disappear into the apartment but leave the balcony doors open.

There’s a narrow alley between this building and the next. David spotted it as they approached, noting the building’s surroundings in the same unconscious way he judged the cost of Patrick’s outfit: he has no use for either skill, but both stay ticking over in his brain even now he’s out of that life. He nods at the doorman again, and wanders over to the mouth of the alley, nose preemptively wrinkled.

It’s not as bad as he expected, just a little dingy and poorly lit. There's not much in the way of purchase on the walls, but it's workable. He gets a foot on the one windowsill he can see - frosted glass, so he guesses it's a store cupboard or something connected to the foyer - and starts climbing.

It's good. He hadn't realized how much he missed this, choosing instead to remember the stress, the guilt that followed, that awful time he wasn't careful enough. But this part is good. He doesn't always trust his body, but this still comes easily to him. His breathing stays steady and his movements are sure, and the rough brick and cool metal are a welcome distraction from everything else. He still feels the echo of Patrick's arm under his fingers. It had been so warm, even through his shirt, and now David concentrates on gripping at the iron railings, letting that feeling overwrite the jolt that had gone through him when he'd felt Patrick underneath his hand.

Once he's reached a good height - he's very actively not thinking about how high that might be because _fuck_ , he still really hates heights - he shifts along the wall until he's moving onto the front of the building, and is pleased to find himself only a couple of feet below the balconies. He pulls himself up onto the nearest one and takes a moment to steady himself. Even when he was doing this regularly he struggled with heights, and he lets himself feel the solid concrete beneath him for a few seconds. He has no idea if the apartment beyond the balcony is occupied however, so he starts moving on to the next one before he has a chance to find out. This part is straightforward, and he makes it across to the balcony where he saw the police in no time at all.

He pauses when he gets there, but it seems quiet within the apartment, and he slips inside after a few moments.

It's cold, although less so than on the balcony, and bright. David's first impression is of clean, sharp lines and stark contrasts of black and white. Minimalist, in the way that says "look how much we can afford to not have" and simultaneously "I have no taste". He hates it. Not so much the black and white - he can certainly appreciate monochrome - but this room is lifeless and austere. He’s actually reminded of Ted’s apartment in Schitt’s Creek: that, too, felt totally impersonal. Except this is a penthouse in one of the richest neighborhoods in Toronto, so they have no excuse.

The living room is expensively furnished, but Patrick had mentioned jewelry so David makes his way toward the open bedroom door. There's a jewelry stand on the dresser there, in full view of the doorway but not visible from any windows, and a set of gorgeous wooden jewelry boxes, clearly custom-made but utterly incongruous in the black and white of the apartment; David supposes they must be a gift. The boxes are lined up neatly enough that it’s clear where one has been removed, although he’s not sure if it’s by the thief or the police. He’d guess the latter - the pieces here aren’t in their original boxes, so provenance isn’t so important, and a closed, but empty, box doesn’t look amiss whereas the gap on the dresser does - but he’ll have to check with Patrick. The room itself looks fairly secure, with large windows along one wall. There's no balcony off this room, though, so it's unlikely that that was the point of entry. David lifts the lid of one of the jewelry boxes, pulling the cuff of his leather jacket down over his hand to avoid direct contact, and peers inside.

He's greeted by a pair of gold and mother-of-pearl earrings. They’re totally at odds with the apartment’s minimalist decor but equally not his style, and he grimaces at them. He wonders what the missing piece looks like, if it’s as transparent a display of wealth as these or more understated. He supposes that’s something Patrick would need to know, whether they’re looking for the piece that went missing or several smaller ones, each with a selection of the jewels.

David returns the box to its place on the dresser and turns to leave the bedroom, already bracing himself to climb back down via the balcony. This time it’s harder to ignore the height, the wind that whistles past his ears from time to time, and he very determinedly doesn’t look down as he makes his way along the side of the building and returns to the alley. His feet come to a rest on concrete and cigarette butts and he lets out a long sigh of relief.

Then he turns to head out onto the street, and finds himself face to face with Patrick.

“Uh.”

“Hi, David.” His arms are folded across his body, but he’s put his jacket back on so David can’t even see his forearms, which seems unfair. “I couldn’t see you when I came back out, but Derek said you’d headed this way. I was worried you’d got lost.”

“Okay, _who_ is Derek?”, David says, then - “I was trying to save time. Save you time.”

“Oh, I see”, Patrick says, “By doing what, exactly?”

“I was - I was getting a feel for the scene of the crime. The crime scene. I was getting a feel for,” he gestures vaguely, “that.”

“Right. And how were you doing that?”

“By seeing, mostly. Looking. Definitely not touching or moving things.” He still can’t read Patrick, but the soft warmth is gone from his eyes and David realizes, suddenly, that he desperately wants it back.

“David, you can’t just -” Patrick breaks off, working his jaw. David isn’t looking. “The police want to make an arrest and move on. I don’t want that, and I don’t think you do either. But I leave you alone for two seconds and you fill the time by breaking and entering a crime scene -”

“Technically I did not break before entering? The French windows were open, I just walked in.”

“From a balcony on the sixth floor, David. I don’t know how you managed that in your Chucks, but -”

“Okay,” David says, appalled, “these are not _Chucks_ , thank you so much, and second of all, if officers of the law are leaving windows and doors open for anyone to just wander in I don’t see how that’s my fault.”

“You know, you didn’t actually say first of all”, Patrick says, and David hates how flustered this guy makes him. “You can’t just walk in. They were bending the rules letting me in - what if they find out you were in there? What if they find your fingerprints?”

“I didn’t touch anything”, David snaps, “Obviously I didn’t leave my prints in the dust and a business card, they’re not going to - oh.” He stops short. “You mean, if they find my prints now they won’t know if it’s from today or from last night. Because you’re expecting my prints to be there. Because you think I did it.”

“David.” Patrick’s voice is soft, but his gaze is still firm, so focused on David. It’s at once uncomfortable and thrilling. David feels pinned in place. Patrick takes a breath, his shoulders lifting, and exhales shakily. “I don't think you did this. I believe you. I want to trust you. But I’m going to find that hard if you keep disappearing on me. And I’m definitely going to find it hard if you get arrested five minutes after we start working together. I’m not asking you to do exactly as I say all the time, but - maybe don’t break any more laws for a bit? Please?”

David knows he needs to respond but he’s stuck on Patrick’s quiet voice, earnestly saying _I want to trust you_. He doesn’t know what to do with that - the sentiment or the sincerity. David has never been someone that people trust easily; he’s far too closed off, too aloof. He does this deliberately, to some extent, because it’s better than having people trust him and letting them down. But he sometimes wonders if there’s not something else, something he doesn’t even realize he’s doing, that puts people off getting too close. Alexis trusts him, for big, international-incident-type crises, if not for much else. And Stevie trusted him for a while, will trust him again, maybe, if he didn’t completely throw that away when he left Schitt’s Creek. But none of his friends from before trusted him. They were too arch for that, too affectedly unaffected. None of them were the type to offer vulnerability without expecting something in return, so David learned to do the same. To have Patrick - someone he barely knows, who has no _reason_ to trust him - stand here and look him in the eye and tell David he wants to let his guard down around him… it’s dizzying.

It’s very tempting.

“Fine”, David says at last, tearing his eyes away from Patrick as though that will help him feel less transparent. “I will try not to commit any crimes. So that you can… trust me.” It’s too much, all of a sudden, and David grasps for self-deprecation, hoping Patrick won’t hear the truth behind it: “But I can’t say I’ll feel the same, no matter how law-abiding you are.”

“That’s fair”, Patrick says, as though David’s being reasonable instead of completely ridiculous like always, “But I hope you can come to trust my judgement. And I won’t undertake any jewelry heists in the meantime, just in case.” Patrick smiles a toothy grin that brings the light back into his eyes, and David thinks, crystal clear and terrified, _holy fuck_.

* * *

Patrick is so effortlessly, universally charming that he managed not only to get permission for himself and David to examine the burgled apartment, but also to interview the occupant. She’s in the apartment across the hall, where her attentive and no doubt curious neighbor has made her a cup of tea. Patrick tells David this as they make their way up in the elevator, while David does his best to listen and not think about how near Patrick is in the enclosed space.

"I want this to be a partnership, so if you want to ask her things - if there's something you think I've missed - then that's fine. But she's probably in a state of shock, so try to be gentle."

David nods absently, already thinking about how he's going to have to bite his tongue, but it turns out Patrick's warnings are unnecessary because David barely gets a foot through the door before -

“Oh my God, _David Rose_?”

Fuck.

He doesn't remember her name, but he recognizes her instantly. She’s one of Alexis’ old friends, dressed to the nines despite having presumably not left her apartment building all day. Her hair is styled to within an inch of its life and she’s impeccably made up; she does not look like she’s in a state of shock.

She doesn’t sound like it either.

“It is so super good to see you, David, it’s been forever. I don’t think I’ve seen you since -” She cuts herself off abruptly and David raises an eyebrow, willing her to finish that sentence. Instead she flicks her hair over her shoulder, as though brushing away the thought of his family’s misfortune, and continues like nothing has happened. “How are you? And Alexa? I miss her!”

David didn’t rob this girl, but he’s almost starting to wish that he had.

“Alexis is doing great, thank you so much. This is Patrick, by the way. Patrick, this is - I’m sorry, remind me?” It’s petty, maybe, and he’s sure Patrick must already know this girl’s name from the police. But he remembers, the first few weeks after they moved to Schitt’s Creek, how certain Alexis was that her friends would come and fetch her, or at the very least come to visit, or at the very, very least reply to her increasingly distressed texts. He remembers feeling the same certainty slip away himself.

“I already met Miss Van Housen this morning, although I didn’t realize you knew each other”, Patrick says. David can’t read his expression but he’s working his jaw again, and David wonders what he’s done in the last thirty seconds to piss Patrick off so much. The surname jogs David’s memory, though, and he can place her now: Jenna Van Housen. “David is working with me as a consultant. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Fine”, she huffs, “It was, like, such a fugly necklace, but whatever. My aunt will be super upset if I don’t get it back, so.”

“You said this morning it was a gift from your godmother”, Patrick says. He settles on the couch opposite Jenna and takes a notebook and pen from his satchel. David sits gingerly beside him.

“Oh. Okay, my godmother, whoever. Anyway, she got me this necklace and matching earrings for my birthday and the necklace is missing, which is so annoying because she'll get all yelly and I just don't need that kind of negative energy in my life, you know?”

Patrick looks utterly thrown, but nods and says, “Of course. Do you know roughly how much it's worth?”

“Um, maybe ten or twelve?”

“All right. Twelve hundred dollars is at the lower end of what we cover but -”

“No, silly!” Jenna giggles, flicking her hair again, “Ten or twelve thousand.”

“For a necklace?”, Patrick asks after a moment.

“I know, right? She's so stingy. But it's worth much more as a set, so I guess whoever took it didn't know that. Maybe they were, like, a poor person or something?”

“Have you worn them recently?”, David asks while Patrick apparently picks his jaw up off the floor.

“Ew, no. I haven't touched them since her birthday party last year. Unless it was Christmas? She was insisting I wear them, it was like she was worried I'd sold them, or I didn't like them.”

“Do you have an idea of who was there? Or might your godmother?”

“Maybe. It was forever ago though. I remember that you and Alexis came, David, because Sebastien was there and you kept avoiding him.” David doesn’t know what his face does at that, but Patrick shifts beside him, so he assumes it can’t be anything good. He really wishes he’d robbed this girl. Jenna is oblivious, though, continuing: “It was so funny, your face got all pinched and wrinkly.”

Patrick stands suddenly, which distracts David from the unusual sensation of his heart relocating to somewhere near his ankles.

“Thank you so much for your time, Miss Van Housen. We’ll be in touch.”

She stays sitting, delicately holding out a hand for Patrick to shake - or possibly kiss - while David gets unsteadily to his feet. He looks at her outstretched arm.

“That’s a nice bracelet.”

“Thank you”, Jenna trills, “Isn’t it just so cute?”

“Mm”, David says, because words are an effort. “It looks a lot like the bracelet I got Alexis for her bat mitzvah.”

“We must have done a jewelry swap at some point”, Jenna says, but her smile is forced.

“It’s funny, I remember her looking for it. You know, when Revenue turned up and took everything we owned. She was very concerned”, David says. He knows his voice is too loud, is sure he’s attracting the attention of Jenna’s neighbor, and he can’t bring himself to care. There had been a lot of hysterics the day Revenue arrived and in the weeks that followed, but he remembers how quiet Alexis had been when she’d unpacked the last suitcase and realized the bracelet was gone. She’d looked so young. “I always wondered what happened to everything we had to leave behind.”

David notes with grim satisfaction that Jenna won’t meet his eyes, but Patrick’s gaze feels like it’s burning into him, so he lets himself be shepherded out of the apartment and back into the elevator.

It isn’t until they step back out onto the street that David pulls himself back into the present. He startles at the cool air and the noise of the city, and braces himself against whatever’s made Patrick so furious with him.

“Sorry”, Patrick says. He looks exhausted. “I didn’t - if you want to go back I’m sure we can. That wasn’t fair of me.”

“Um”, David says eloquently.

“I know I said that this should be a partnership and it was… wrong of me to pull us out of there like that.”

“Okay, what did I do?”, David asks. He doesn’t understand what’s going on: Patrick’s still tense with suppressed anger, but his words don’t match that at all.

“Nothing! You didn’t - well, you broke into a crime scene, but nothing since then. She was - she was being very rude to you, and you looked uncomfortable. I figured you could use some air, but I shouldn’t have made that decision for you. I’m sorry.” Patrick’s eyes are so earnest when they meet David’s, and David has to look down at his rings for a moment. “And I’m sorry about the bracelet.”

“It’s fine”, David says, “My sister still has plenty of jewelry. It’s not your fault my family lost all our money and worldly possessions.”

Patrick doesn’t say anything for a moment so David looks up to see his expression, which means their eyes meet as Patrick says, “It wasn’t your fault either.” David jerks his head back, trying to keep the vulnerability from his face, and Patrick continues in a mercifully lighter tone, “And I’m sure it wasn’t _all_ your worldly possessions. You still have your Chucks.”

* * *

They end up back in the park where they met, although David had insisted on more coffee first. Patrick got himself a tea this time, having retrieved a Thermos from his bag, and is apologetic when he can’t remember how many sweeteners David takes in his coffee.

“I’m so sorry”, he says as he hands David a disposable cup and several packets of sweeteners, “I was pretty sure it was two, but I didn’t put any in just in case. I hope I got the rest of it right?”

“It is two”, David says as he adds them, “And you remembered the cocoa powder, so. You are forgiven.”

Patrick smiles at him over the lid of his travel mug.

“So do you have any theories about who’s behind this?”, he asks David. His face is open and gentle again, and David does his best to swallow his fear. Patrick had said he wanted to trust David, after all.

“There was… someone I knew. Before. Who knew how I worked, and knew a lot of the same people as me. They’d know how to move on stolen jewels, but probably not enough to know that those earrings are worth more than the necklace they took. They would know enough to frame me, if they wanted.”

“Is that what you think is happening?”, Patrick asks.

“There’s a series of burglaries in Toronto, starting less than a month after I get here, and the most recent target is someone I used to know. You said yourself I’m the prime suspect.”

“Okay,” Patrick says, “I’ll concede it doesn’t look good. Did this person know the Van Housens too?”

David thinks about the party Jenna had mentioned, remembers watching Sebastien flirt with what seemed like half the guests. Alexis had been oddly attentive that night, scolding him for lurking in the hallway instead of having fun, but checking in frequently and, at least once, steering him elsewhere as Sebastien approached.

He nods.

“Do you have an idea of where they might target next?” Patrick’s retrieved the notebook from his bag and he nudges David’s knee with his own, pulling him gently back to the here and now.

“Honestly? I think he’ll go back to that apartment.”

“Just for the earrings?” Patrick sounds doubtful.

“First of all, those earrings are easily worth twenty thousand dollars. Which I say based on the price of the necklace and not having seen them myself, because that would mean I'd seen them in the apartment. Which I didn't. Second, the place is going to be empty tonight and I think it's highly unlikely that there'll be an officer guarding the balcony. Also, yes, he will go back to the same place two nights in a row because he has a compulsive need to show off.”

Patrick doesn't respond at first, carefully making notes of what David has said, and then says, “So you - you know this guy pretty well, then.”

“Yes?”, David says. He doesn't know what answer Patrick is hoping to hear, but he wants to be honest. “He's my ex. His name is Sebastien Raine and he's a dick.”

“Okay”, Patrick says. David can't make out what he's writing, but he really hopes that the words 'Sebastien Raine (dick)' end up in the official Thacker and Scott files for this insurance claim.

“And just to be clear, I haven't spoken to him in over a year, and I definitely didn't plan and execute this with him.”

“Noted”, Patrick says, pointedly not writing anything down. But there's a smile pulling at his mouth, so David lets himself smile too.

* * *

They go back to Patrick's hotel for the evening, at David's insistence. He's been doing okay in Toronto, mostly crashing on the couches of artists and casual acquaintances who owe him favors, but he jumps at the chance for room service and sleeping quarters that don't smell of turpentine. It's nowhere near as nice as anywhere David would have stayed before, but it also doesn't have his sister, so David decides not to complain too much.

Patrick is antsy as they wait for the food. He'd tried explaining David's theory to the police, heavily redacted so as not to incriminate David, but they'd been dismissive.

“It probably doesn’t help that the person who came up with the theory is the person they think is responsible”, David says from the couch.

“They should still listen. They’re being unfair, and short-sighted, and -” Patrick breaks off, tugging at his ear. “You don’t seem surprised.”

David shrugs.

“I wasn’t expecting them to listen. They didn’t last time I got caught up in this, and I had money then. They’ve got no reason to listen to me now.” It’s something that became very apparent as soon as he made it to Toronto. When he was in Schitt’s Creek it was possible to pretend that the friends he texted without reply were just busy, or slow to respond because they hadn’t seen him in person. Now he’s here it’s obvious that the majority of them have no time for David when he’s unable to get them access to clubs or galleries or people more interesting than him. There are a few decent people who have helped him out, but now that kindness is the only currency he has David is unwilling to spend it all on couchsurfing. He needs a way out.

Patrick still looks agitated but they’re saved - literally - by the bell as their food arrives. It’s not quite what David had wanted to order, as they’re using Patrick’s expenses account, but it’s nicer than anything David’s had in weeks. They sit quietly, knees bumping together.

“Can we, uh. Put a movie on, or something? You seem kind of tense.” As soon as David points it out Patrick startles, then nods.

“Sure. You pick.”

David is fairly sure Patrick will regret that decision, but it’s been a very messy day and at this point he just wants pizza and Sandra Bullock, and Patrick will have to deal with that. He finds _Ocean’s 8_ and sets it playing, only to pause when he hears Patrick laugh.

“Are you watching a heist movie?”

“Okay, this is not _a_ heist movie, it is the greatest ensemble heist movie of all time. And shush, it's starting.”

Patrick settles in beside David and keeps obligingly quiet for some time. He seems to be genuinely paying attention, rather than only tolerating the movie, and David feels himself relax a little. Which is a mistake, because Patrick then asks, “Is that how you got into it?”

“I’m sorry?” David is instantly tense.

“Her whole family are con artists, it seems kind of inevitable that - sorry, that’s none of my business. Forget it.”

“My parents don’t know”, David says a few minutes later. He pauses the movie. “They would not be thrilled by the news. Um. There were people I wanted to impress, and it turned out I was pretty good at it, so…” Patrick is looking at him. David can’t read his expression but he doesn’t look like he’s judging David, particularly. He’s just looking. “What about you? How did you become an insurance - uh - person. An insurance person?”

“I actually went to school for business management”, Patrick says with a wry smile and yeah, that tracks. “I wanted to run a small business somewhere - nothing fancy, just. Something stable, something that lasts. But I couldn’t come up with an idea that really seemed right, and I like parts of this job fine.”

“What parts? Other than collaborating with suspected international jewel thieves?”

Patrick is quiet for a moment, then says, “I like the travel. Nowhere glamorous, but I go where they need me. It’s good to get away from… stuff.”

David thinks that liking a job because it takes you away from other parts of your life sounds more than a little dark, but David has never really had a job and he doesn’t want to push Patrick, so he puts the movie back on.

They make it to the end without further incident and David turns to Patrick, ready to ask what he thought, but Patrick has dozed off, head tipping forward onto his chest. David stands as quietly as possible and turns the TV off before pulling the top blanket from the bed and draping it over Patrick. He hovers for a moment, then retrieves a bottle of water from the hotel fridge and sets it down by the couch.

“Goodnight, Patrick.”

Then David switches off the lights and climbs into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We never really get to see a domestic space David's decorated, but the revamped Blouse Barn and RA both have a lot of [gestures vaguely] stuff, so I feel like he wouldn't be super into minimalism? He is kind of rude about it tho
> 
> I realised months after writing this chapter that Ocean's 8 came out in 2018, and this fic is almost definitely set before that, but life is short and the SC timeline is fairly incoherent anyway
> 
> Massive thank you as ever to the fantastic @lovely_narcissa for betaing, and to the General Yet Specific folks for help with the Chucks vs Converse dilemma. Any other grammar mistakes or Britishisms are my own, please feel free to let me know if they've slipped through!


	3. a stranger in my hometown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Sophia" by Nerina Pallot - Spotify playlist can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0WuTyMPgD4uqBSs04JzQlH)!

David is disoriented when he wakes.

It’s quiet in the hotel room, which throws him. He’s grown used to waking up surrounded by activity, but even the noise of the street below is hushed here. It’s still far too early for him to consider getting up, and he’s not had the luxury of a bed this comfortable for a long time, so he lets himself take a moment. Then another. He’s starting to drift back to sleep when he hears the door to the hotel room opening and looks up to see Patrick. 

Patrick has clearly been up for a while - David should have figured he’d be a morning person. He’s wearing a t-shirt and sweats, his face a little flushed, and he’s holding his Thermos.

“Oh, morning”, he says, sounding ridiculously chirpy, “I wanted to be back before you woke up, but I thought you might want coffee.”

“Where’d you go?” David asks, voice sleepy, then sits bolt upright because: “You got me coffee?”

“Two sweeteners and everything”, Patrick says, setting it down on the table where they’d eaten pizza last night. “I wasn’t gone long, I only went for a run.”

David can’t begin to imagine what would drive someone to willingly exercise, outside, early in the morning, but Patrick brought him coffee so this troubling revelation can wait a moment. He drags himself over to the table and sits beside Patrick on the couch. The coffee is exactly right, and he drains almost half of it before he manages to open his eyes and thank Patrick.

“You’re welcome, David. I’m guessing you’re not a morning person, then?”

“Um, not exactly? Definitely not a... morning run person.” He thinks he keeps the horror from his voice, but only barely.

“Well, I normally go for a hike but there’s not a lot of trails in the middle of Toronto, so. We do what we have to do.”

David can’t form words to respond to that, so he just nods faintly.

“You were right, by the way”, Patrick says after a moment. “I got a call from Thacker and Scott’s head office this morning. There was a second break-in at Jenna Van Housen’s apartment.” Patrick’s face isn’t giving anything away, but there’s a tightness in his voice that makes David think he’s still as frustrated as he was last night. “They want me to come in for a meeting and I -”

He’s interrupted by a knock at the door.

“David? David, why haven’t you responded to my texts?”

Oh, God.

“Are you expecting someone?”, Patrick asks. And then - _oh, God_ \- opens the door.

Alexis breezes in like the minor whirlwind she is, making a beeline for David. She’s dressed to the nines and impeccably made up, and brandishing her phone at him like it’s a weapon.

“I texted you three times last night, David, and twice this morning, and you’ve been _ignoring me_. Do you know how difficult it is to find someone in a city this size? I haven’t had to do that since Amanda Seyfried stole my Céline sandals in Buenos Aires.”

“Why, um”, David can’t bring himself to look at Patrick but Patrick is gazing at him, amused, “Why are you - how did you find me?”

“You’re giving yourself a lot of credit, David. Amanda was much better at keeping a low profile.” Alexis doesn’t seem inclined to offer much more in the way of explanation, but charming - or browbeating - a hotel room number out of someone would hardly be a challenge for her. “Although this isn’t exactly where I pictured you staying, so you at least threw me off a little. This is so much nicer than the motel.”

Alexis sets her bag down and spins, giving the room an appraising look. Unfortunately, this means she spots Patrick.

“Um, who is this sweet thing? I am Alexis Rose," she says to Patrick. She holds one hand out loosely for him to shake and points the other at her necklace. It’s so overtly flirtatious, so brazen, that David has to look away. Alexis continues, “and I am David’s sister. David, I didn’t know you still had friends here?”

“Patrick is actually here for work, thank you so much. Why are you here?”

“Do I need a reason to visit my big brother, all alone in the city?” David stares at her. “Okay, fine, Mom was being very stressy about her town council campaign and I needed a break for a little bit.”

Patrick speaks up.

“I was just telling David that I needed to attend a meeting uptown, so I can leave you two to catch up all you want”, Patrick says. Alexis' hand is still resting lightly on top of his. He looks uncomfortable with it, although he’s clearly too polite to say so. He's not even looking at her, instead smiling at David as he says, “And I got you a spare key card for the room.”

“Thanks”, David says, somewhat blindsided by Patrick’s trust in him.

“Yay, David! We have so much to catch up on!” Alexis finally lets go of Patrick’s hand and links her arm with David’s. He bristles. “I saw the sweetest little café on my way here. We could do brunch!”

* * *

Alexis is impossible to dissuade once she has an idea in her head, so David resigns himself to brunch and a game of Twenty Questions. Happily, she borrowed Roland’s truck to get to Toronto, which means David is able to pick up the few bags he’d left at the last place he stayed. Roland has apparently not forgiven David for stealing and abandoning his truck, which David isn't terribly upset about.

“Anyway, that's boring. Tell me more about Patrick”, Alexis says.

“Absolutely not.”

They're in the café she mentioned, which is not particularly sweet but is little, and David's words are far too loud. He looks down at his plate, aware that Alexis is staring at him over her smoothie.

“He looks adorable”, she says brightly, “What was his meeting about? He was way too nice to be Wall Street, but he seems very… businessy.”

Alexis flirts with anyone and everyone, and David has more or less resigned himself to that. But he can't have his sister mess around with the guy currently keeping him out of prison.

“Don't”, he says, and the panic must show on his face because Alexis backs off a little.

“Who is he?”

David bites his lip.

“He's in insurance. He's looking into stolen jewelry.”

“David, _please_ tell me you're not -”

“No! Obviously not. But Patrick's bosses think I am, and he's trying to persuade them otherwise.”

“Is that what his meeting's about?”, Alexis asks, eyes wide.

“Mostly”, David says. She doesn't need to know about Jenna yet, or Sebastien. She'd worry. “Can we talk about something else, please?”

“Fine”, she huffs. She slurps at her smoothie. “I broke up with Mutt.”

“Oh.”

“Or - well, we broke up with each other, really. We didn't have a lot to talk about, it turns out. So we talked about why we weren't talking, and then we just…”

David blinks. He's never heard his sister sound so upset - or so introspective - about the end of a relationship.

“Are you okay?”, he asks.

“I will be”, Alexis says. She smiles at him, but it's a brittle thing. “Oh! Also we're completely broke.”

“Did you hit your head?” He rolls his eyes. “I was there when they took our house.”

“No, like, _completely_ broke. There was a whole thing with some milk, and now I think I have to get a job?”

David sits with that for a moment. He hadn't really imagined that his family could become more destitute than they already were, but apparently he was wrong.

“I'm not here to ask you for money”, Alexis says softly, misinterpreting his silence. She takes his hand and continues, “If you really don't want to come back then I respect that. But I thought you should know. And… I missed you.”

David has to blink back tears.

“I don't think I can come back”, David tells her, “Not yet. There’s something I have to sort here first.”

“With Patrick? Yes, David, I love that! Are you going to get to see that adorable little face every day?”

“I don’t know yet”, David snaps, “And I didn't think _adorable_ was your type, anyway.”

“Regardless, I'm usually everybody's type, and he didn't seem that into it. Like, we had a little chat while you were in the bathroom, and I was flirting _hard_ , David, and he just… nothing. But maybe adorable is more your type?”

“Why - what were you talking to him about? Why were you -” He doesn't touch her last sentence, but Alexis giggles at him anyway.

“He wanted to know how someone's skincare regimen could take so long. You're slacking, by the way, you look like an old woman.” She reaches out to poke at his forehead and he knocks her hand away.

David actually has been slacking because, unsurprisingly, it's hard to fund his usual bathroom cabinet's worth of products when he doesn't have a job and is sleeping on other people's couches. But that doesn't mean he has to tolerate Alexis pointing it out.

“Okay, we’re done here”, he says, “Don’t you have someone else to go annoy?”

“Nope”, she says sunnily, “Just you.”

* * *

In the end they have several hours together before Alexis has to head back to Schitt’s Creek. They don’t do anything in particular - don’t even go anywhere, really - but it’s so good just to talk to her. David hadn’t realized how much he’d been missing it, but he finds himself regaling Alexis with stories he hadn’t even known he was saving for her.

It reminds him, unsettlingly, of their relationship before Schitt’s Creek: Alexis dropping in, making David laugh and roll his eyes in equal measure, then disappearing before he’d had enough time to really accept that she was safe. The difference is that this time she’s driving back to a small town in a pickup truck, rather than chartering a jet to ports unknown.

The other difference, David thinks, is that they’re better at listening to each other now. He can hear what she’s not saying, and she backs off when he needs her to - and not just with Patrick, although he’s grateful for that. She still doesn’t give him an easy time, of course, still pushes his buttons. But they’re gentler with each other now, in a way that almost makes him miss mornings squeezed into a booth with her at Café Tropical.

So they drop David’s bags off at the hotel and he waves her off, and then he sits in the lobby and resolutely doesn't think about Patrick. They’d traded numbers that morning and Patrick had promised to call when his meeting was done, so David is trying his best to be patient when someone is suddenly blocking his light.

“David.”

He freezes.

Sebastien sounds the same as David remembers: even in a single word, David can hear the arrogance and boredom. The chair beside David’s is empty but Sebastien remains standing. David refuses to turn his head and look up at Sebastien, to give in to the obvious powerplay Sebastien is aiming for; instead he holds himself still and waits.

Then Sebastien is putting his hands on David’s shoulders, which is much worse.

“David, it’s been too long. It’s good to see you looking so healthy.”

Sebastien lets go of David and drops down into the seat beside him. He lounges, one arm draped over the arm of the chair like he’s reaching for something, while his other hand cradles his camera bag, as ever. His long legs stretch out in front of him, his foot almost brushing David’s ankle. He’s uncomfortably close.

“I love where you’re staying, by the way. It’s rare to find somewhere so unconcerned with current trends in a city. Although this is so provincial compared with New York. There’s something in the rural sadness on everyone’s faces, I find it so intriguing -”

“Why are you here, Sebastien?”

“I’m hurt, David. We used to be so close”, Sebastien leans toward him, and David hates that he feels himself shrink in response, “Is it so unlikely that I was in the area and just wanted to see you? To catch up?”

 _Yes_ , David thinks.

Sebastien reaches out to cup David’s face.

“I miss us, David. I miss what we used to be to each other. You have the capacity for such selflessness, and I believe it's an important part of my journey to learn to accept that selflessness from you.”

“What do you want, Sebastien?”, David asks tersely. How the _hell_ had he ever wanted this guy’s attention?

“We were so good together, David.” Sebastien pulls back. He looks irritated at David’s impatience, but swallows it down and continues, “I was at my most daring with you. I want to get back to that.”

“When you say ‘together’, do you mean before or after you abandoned me in a police cell? Just so we’re clear”, David says. His voice is tight with rage but he isn’t shouting yet, which is something.

“You have to let go of the past”, Sebastien tells him. He sounds like he actually believes what’s coming out of his mouth, and David can’t help but purse his lips. “True creativity lives in the present, David. Come join me there.”

David just stares him down, determined to make Sebastien say it out loud.

“I know you must miss the finer things here in this backwater,” Sebastien says after a long moment, “but I think you have the ability to make it out. You just need me to make you bold.”

“I see”, David says, “And by 'bold' you mean… willing to break the law.”

"We're artists”, Sebastien declares without a hint of irony, “We shouldn’t be constrained by convention. You are capable of great things, David.”

Sebastien leans closer still and places a hand on David’s thigh. His thumb brushes over the fabric, drawing tiny barely-there circles. David does this to himself, sometimes, when he’s distressed. It grounds him. Feeling Sebastien do it makes David’s skin crawl. He wants to knock Sebastien’s hand away but feels his chin being tipped upward, forcing him to meet Sebastien’s eyes. It’s as though Sebastien is looking through him, appraising him rather than looking for the joy of it.

“I need you”, Sebastien says, and David can hear the lie on the back of his tongue, “Help me find beautiful things, David; help me set them free.”

“Mm, that’s a hard no”, David says, “I’m really enjoying not being incarcerated right now.”

The fingers on David’s chin stay gentle, but Sebastien’s thumb stops abruptly on David’s thigh, then presses down hard. David can’t tell if it’s a threat or an unconscious sign of Sebastien’s anger, but it makes him still more certain that he’s right to say no.

“I understand”, Sebastien says coldly, “So it’s a shame that this conversation is being captured on the hotel’s security cameras right now. Hardly the most revealing medium, but I think they’ll convey the gist of it well enough.”

David goes very still, but Sebastien isn’t done. He moves into David’s space, so close that his hair brushes David’s cheek, and says, “And of course I documented everything last time around, just in case you felt like turning me in.”

Sebastien stands, dragging his hand along David’s thigh as he goes. He adjusts his camera bag on his shoulder and smiles at David, calculating and sharp.

“I’ll see you soon, David.”

Then he’s gone, walking out of the hotel lobby and into the bright sunshine, while David digs his nails into his palms and tries to remember how to breathe.

A few minutes later, when his hands have stopped shaking, David checks his phone and sees two texts and a missed call from Patrick.

 **Patrick:** Hi David, my meeting has finished. Are you free? Patrick

 **Patrick:** Hi David, don’t worry if you aren’t. Just wanted to talk. Patrick

David ignores the weird formality of the texts and calls Patrick instead. It rings for what feels like an eternity, which works out terribly because David starts to think about what he’ll say, rather than just letting the words tumble out like usual. He can’t tell Patrick he’s seen Sebastien. He can’t. Yesterday he told Patrick he wasn’t in contact with Sebastien, and suddenly they’re meeting? Patrick won’t believe him. Sebastien will turn him in. David will - he realizes suddenly that he’s reached Patrick’s voicemail.

“Hi, David, it’s Patrick”, _fuck_ , “Just saw your text. Texts. Um. I am free right now. At the hotel. I’m at the hotel and I’m free. Okay. Ciao.”

He hangs up, exhaling sharply. Then he texts Patrick.

 **David:** yes im free. @ hotel. pls delete voicemail!!

Patrick doesn’t respond immediately, so David heads up to their room and gives himself over to a panic attack.

Later, when he’s refolding his sweaters in an attempt to calm himself, his phone buzzes.

 **Patrick:** Hi Patrick, I’m heading back to the hotel now. Do you want dinner? David

 **David:** not funny

 **David:** yes please

* * *

Patrick’s choice for dinner is surprisingly not-horrible. It’s a tiny place, packed with locals, and David wonders how Patrick came across it. It doesn’t seem like the kind of restaurant you stumble into.

“By the way, you text like an insane person”, David tells him while they wait for their food.

“Er. Thanks?”

“You’re welcome. But yes, literally the weirdest texts I have ever received. And I once dated a performance artist who wrote all her texts in alphabetical order”, David says, “It was like making plans with Roland Barthes.”

Patrick laughs, hiding his smile behind his hand. David preens at the sight.

“Wait, really?”, Patrick asks, “Like, ‘dinner for meet shall we when’? Why?”

David blinks, impressed by Patrick’s speediness. But then Patrick’s shaking his head and saying, “I guess I shouldn’t ask. ‘Never apologize, never explain’, right?”

David’s mouth is dry. He takes a large gulp of wine, then a larger gulp of water, and tries not to think about Patrick quoting _The Pleasure of the Text_ at him. He casts around for something else to talk about, but Patrick seems to sense his discomfort.

“How’s your sister?”, Patrick asks, obligingly changing the subject.

“I - fine, thank you. She got back to the motel about an hour ago." Alexis had texted him a photo, her grinning in front of the desk while Stevie smiled uncomfortably from behind it. His eyes had stung a little at the sight of the two of them, at how long it had been since he’d seen them together. It’s a thought he’s been having pretty much since the moment he left Schitt’s Creek, but it’s getting harder to ignore: he misses it. He misses seeing his beautiful, selfish sister every day; he misses the way Stevie could just look at him and let him know he was being ridiculous. He does not miss Roland, or sheets that smell like cigarettes, or the feeling of his elbows sticking to the linoleum tabletop at Café Tropical. He can’t imagine ever missing those things, no matter how long he stays away.

Patrick is smiling at him.

“Alexis is kind of a lot”, David says, “I had no idea she was coming here or how she, um, found your hotel room. I think at this point it’s best not to ask.”

“David, it’s fine. I liked her”, Patrick says, and _oh_. “Are you always so… contentious with each other?”

David turns the question over in his mind. He knows their bickering looks strange to outsiders - even their parents - but it’s how they’ve been for years. Not so much when Alexis was small, when she followed him everywhere and David mostly tolerated it, although he can’t remember exactly when that stopped. He remembers Adelina telling him to cherish those moments, to be grateful that Alexis thought so highly of him, but as he got a little older he’d found it frustrating to have his baby sister copying his every move. Then she went to a boarding school on the other side of the world, and David has struggled to keep track of her ever since.

Like everything in his life, that changed with Schitt’s Creek.

“We used to be worse, just fighting constantly”, he says, “But that’s, uh, siblings, you know?”

“I don’t, actually, I’m an only child”, Patrick tells him, then: “She told me about the time she broke up with Dave Franco in Belize?”

“Oh, my God, she's told that story like a thousand times and he clearly got over it. She needs to let it go”, David huffs, then says more cautiously, “She did just break up with someone, though, so I don't think she's -”

“Oh, no, I don't - I mean, she seems great but - I’m not interested in your sister, David.” Patrick looks like he wants to say more, but his eyes flick away and they’re interrupted by the arrival of their food. It’s good - it’s really good - so David tries to focus on that rather than reading into Patrick’s last sentence.

After a few minutes he trusts himself enough to look at Patrick again, and sees that Patrick is already watching him. He looks down, flustered, and unfortunately finds himself looking at Patrick’s mouth. Patrick’s lips are parted in a slight smile, and pinker than usual. They’re drinking the same wine.

David clears his throat.

“How was your meeting?”, he asks Patrick.

“Oh”, Patrick says, and hesitates. It gives David pause: he’d thought it was good news, at first, because Patrick had seemed pleased when he got back to the hotel. His whole face had lit up when he’d seen David, splitting into a wide smile that had left David physically winded. But now he seems almost disappointed that David’s asked, like he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Before David can spiral too badly, Patrick is talking. His voice is gentle as he says, “They weren’t thrilled at first. They still think it’s likely you’re… involved, at least. Although obviously you have a pretty airtight alibi for last night.” David hadn’t thought of that at the time, but it’s true. By staying with him Patrick has made sure that, no matter what happens, David cannot be charged for the second theft at Jenna Van Housen’s apartment.

“David, the truth is your theory is a solid one. I know you’re reticent to tell me everything about this guy, and I don’t want to push you, but what you told me yesterday made sense.” They’d gone over it more thoroughly before Patrick went to the police, rehashing the details until he was sure he could explain it clearly without implicating David. He’d been so determined to get it right. “And of course the theft of the earrings lines up with what you’d said”, Patrick says with a smile, “Is that something you did? The same place twice thing?"

"I am going to plead the fifth on that one", David says primly.

Patrick laughs again, and this time he doesn’t hide behind his hand. Instead David gets a front row seat to it, Patrick grinning wide and unguarded like he can’t hold his amusement in. It’s captivating.

“That’s fair”, Patrick says through a laugh, then gathers himself. “David, they’re willing to see how your theory plays out. And, uh,” Patrick takes a sip of wine, looking nervous, “they had an offer for you, actually.”

“Oh?” David wants to know more, but he’s interrupted by the server collecting their plates. Patrick shifts in his seat, then leans forward slightly.

“These break-ins have a lot of clients nervous, and a lot of them are highly strung at the best of times. They want to know that their assets are thoroughly protected.”

“Okay”, David says.

“Thacker and Scott want you to work for us. With me. We would be contracted to test the security of people’s homes. Museums, too, if the ones we provide insurance for want in.”

“Right”, David says, “And by ‘test the security’ you mean…”

“You would attempt to break in and steal a piece, and return it in the morning. We could then give clients a more detailed picture of flaws in their security systems and adjust our insurance premiums accordingly.”

“I see”, David nods, but he feels cold, “You save money, they save Grandma Edith’s brooch, everybody wins.”

“Including you, David”, Patrick says, drawing an envelope from his pocket and handing it to David. Their fingers brush. “This is a very preliminary contract, but it offers you a degree of protection. I hope it’s fair.”

David opens the envelope and skims the contract. It certainly is fair - more than, really. The amount they’re offering would have been pocket change to David a year ago, but now…

“Do I need to sign it tonight?”, he asks.

“Not at all”, Patrick says, “I hope you decide to work with me, but you should take your time, make sure you’re happy with it first.”

David nods and folds the contract back into its envelope, already knowing what he wants to say.

* * *

The restaurant Patrick chose isn’t too far from the hotel and it’s warm for early fall, so they walk back after dinner. They’re quiet for the first few minutes, and David feels his anxiety from the afternoon start to creep back in. He wants - well, he doesn’t actually want to tell Patrick, he’s not stupid - but Patrick has been so open with David, from the moment they met, and David wants to be able to return that. He tries to imagine it, plan out what he’d say to Patrick and how Patrick would respond. He doesn’t doubt that Patrick would be understanding, because that’s just how Patrick is. He’s sure, also, that Patrick will want to help David find a way out of this. But he can’t bear the thought of Patrick pitying him, of his eyes going wide and soft as he looks at David.

“I had a really nice evening”, Patrick says as they approach the hotel. David doesn't respond at first, lost in his own catastrophizing. Even when he pulls himself out of his head, he's not sure how to respond. Patrick's comment doesn't make sense to him.

“Likewise”, David finally says. Patrick turns to look at him, his mouth starting to twist into a smile. It’s a small thing, maybe a little hesitant, and makes the corners of his mouth turn down instead of up. David likes it. He wants to see it again, learn exactly what it means and how to turn it into the wide grin Patrick offered him earlier.

Luckily, David’s brain comes back online and reminds him what a phenomenally bad idea it is to want that, want Patrick, like this.

“I’m really looking forward to working with you”, David says, and instantly he knows it must be the wrong thing to say because Patrick pulls away, the corners of his mouth tightening. David hadn’t even realized how close they were standing.

Patrick turns his head, rubbing at his neck with one hand. The movement tugs at his shirt and David thinks briefly, hysterically, about _The Pleasure of the Text_ again, about skin glimpsed and then hidden. He can see a slight flush at the open collar of Patrick’s shirt and he wants to follow it lower, see where it goes.

David clears his throat.

“Um. Thank you for dinner”, he says, forcing himself to keep his eyes on Patrick’s face.

“Any time, David.” Patrick holds his gaze for a long moment, then turns and leads them into the soft yellow light of the hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The Pleasure of the Text_ is a literary theory book I had to read in my first year of uni. Its chapters are arranged in alphabetical order for some ungodly reason, and it is absolutely fixated on sex. That said it is also very interesting, so like. 😕
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!


	4. dance till the sun comes up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> A quick note - David has a panic attack in this chapter, which I wanted to give a heads up for in case people would rather skip it. That part begins right after David says "Sorry, I just -", and you should be okay after "They're taking a cab", but I didn't want anyone to be caught out by it.

In the end it really isn’t any kind of decision.

David agrees to take the night to think about it, because Patrick seems adamant that he not rush into anything. He also insists that David take the bed - no great hardship - because Patrick had forgotten to book a second room before they headed out for dinner.

David lies in the dark for a while, comforter pulled up almost to his chin. The blinds aren’t quite closed and there’s stripes of white streetlight cutting across the room, distorted where they fall across furniture. Patrick had fallen asleep quickly on the couch but David’s mind is still stuck on the events of the day. He can't stop thinking about Patrick’s smile when he looked at David, about Patrick’s quick mind keeping pace with him, about Patrick’s warm, dry fingers brushing his.

That this is a bad idea is obvious to David; he has every intention of agreeing to work with Patrick, and harboring a crush like he’s fifteen is going to be awkward and embarrassing even if David is very lucky and manages not to be totally obvious. Best case scenario, he's flustered around Patrick for a while before this quietly goes away, and maybe he makes it through without doing anything too humiliating. Worst case scenario…

David used to fall hard and fast, once upon a time. He’d get overinvested early on, and end up feeling caught out when the other person pulled away. Whatever the reason - he was too intense, too needy, too _much_ \- he always felt the same swooping unpleasantness when the other shoe dropped. It was as though, climbing the staircase at his parents’ house, he’d lost count of the number of steps. There was the brief sensation of falling, the feeling that his heart was dropping into his stomach, but that was always followed by frustration turned inward. _How many times have you done this_ , he’d ask himself, _and you still make the same mistakes every time?_

So he’d got better. He’d closed himself off more, figuring numbness was better than that old feeling that he was falling.

The worst thing is that he's sure Patrick would be gentle about it. He'd let David down easy, trip over his own words in his efforts to be polite and professional and _I'm very flattered, but…_ It doesn't bear thinking about.

David clenches his fists in the comforter, feeling it twist between his fingers. In his anxiety the fabric is almost sandpapery in its roughness, but it's good. It grounds him. It lets him drag himself away from thinking about Patrick and focus on what he should actually be worrying about, what’s threatening to pull his life apart.

He shouldn’t be surprised that Sebastien’s done this. As soon as he’d realized that Sebastien was behind the break-ins, he should have been prepared for this. Sebastien is capable, but not inclined to get his hands dirty. Of course he would try to get David involved. David should have seen it coming.

Knowing that doesn’t make it any easier.

David’s mind has a tendency to spiral when faced with a problem that only impacts him. It gets caught up in the myriad possible solutions and complications, pulling at each loose thread until the whole thing unravels and he feels like he’s suffocating. He can feel that happening now, even as he tries to force himself to focus. He knows he needs to work out exactly how to get around this, how to get Sebastien to back off without giving into him, but he can’t see a way out. All he can think of is Sebastien’s arrogant eyes, the feel of his breath across David’s cheek as he threatened him.

The way he promised Patrick, yesterday, that he hadn’t seen or spoken to Sebastien in months.

He can’t get himself to settle, to calmly think his way through the problem. It’s different when other people are involved - when Alexis left cryptic voicemails, voice bright but brittle, he could shove his own anxiety aside long enough to help her with passports and contacts and bribes. She needed something from him, and he could always focus while he did that, then spiral privately while he waited for the tweet or Instagram post that would let him know she was still alive.

Alexis’ mind is razor-sharp and laser-focused. It served her well back then, not least because everything else about her made people likely to underestimate her. Whenever he's seen her in a crisis she’s been able to put her fear aside and work through it, methodical and self-assured. He’s always envied her for it, but especially now.

David doesn’t know Patrick well yet, and he’s trying not to think about how he _wants_ to know Patrick well, but he can already imagine exactly how Patrick would work through a problem. David is sure he’d be logical, but patient too. He thinks about how Patrick looks at him when David wants to look away. He doesn’t pry, or push David to say more than he wants to. Instead Patrick looks at him, eyes warm and face open, and David wants to tell him everything.

Obviously that’s a really bad idea.

He turns it over in his head for what feels like hours, his mind flickering back and forth between Patrick and Sebastien. He’s still awake when the streetlights outside click off and he can hear the city starting to wake up. He drifts off, at last, to the memory of Alexis saying _I miss you_ and and the feeling of Patrick’s warm fingers against his.

* * *

“I have good news”, Patrick says in greeting two mornings later, and David immediately shuts the door in his face because it's barely nine 'o' clock and Patrick is obscenely chirpy.

In the time since they officially became colleagues Patrick has walked David through the fine print of his contract, making sure he understands what protections it affords him, and booked David a hotel room next to Patrick's. David is immeasurably grateful for the former, and is trying to convince himself that the latter is also for the best. It’s hard sometimes. He almost longs for those two nights they spent talking on the couch before going to bed, especially because the blanket folded over the armrest smelled fresh and familiar, and felt soft against his cheek. The bedding in his new room is fine - none of it smells like cigarettes, at least - but not as good as that blanket, and he can’t work out why the hotel would use different detergents like that.

Sometimes it’s hard for David to convince himself that he doesn’t miss sharing a room with Patrick. Sometimes Patrick tries to talk to him at nine in the morning and makes it much easier.

“David?”, Patrick asks, muffled through the door, “I have coffee.”

David takes a steadying breath and opens the door.

“It is barely light outside”, he scowls.

“Hotel breakfast ends in less than an hour”, Patrick says brightly, “Pretty sure I saw waffles.”

David grumbles for the whole of the elevator ride downstairs, and most of the time he has his eyes at least half-closed. It is far too early for proper conversation, or Patrick's easy smile, or really anything other than coffee and waffles. Patrick is obligingly quiet while they settle in for breakfast, content just to sip his tea for a few minutes. He looks calm but for how one finger taps intermittently on the side of the mug.

“Okay”, David says, when he feels more awake and Patrick looks ready to vibrate out of his skin, “What’s the good news?”

“I had a call from my boss this morning,” Patrick says, “and we have a client.” He looks pleased, smiling softly at David, and David is so grateful. Patrick has been a little off with him since they had dinner, and David isn't sure why. He wants to get back to how they were that evening; he wants to make Patrick laugh like that again. As it is he still looks reserved as he says, “There’s a family in the city who want to hire you, if you… if you still want to?”

Patrick doesn’t sound hesitant, exactly, but David is surprised that he’s asking at all. He’d been very clear, he thought - overeager, if anything - that he wanted to work with Patrick. But Patrick asks him anyway. Just in case.

David doesn’t trust his voice yet, so he nods at Patrick and takes another bite of his waffle. It sticks in his throat.

“Good”, Patrick says, instantly looking relieved, “That’s - that’s really good. They got in touch this morning about a particular piece in their collection. I have the details here if you want to get started?”

David should say no. He’s still barely awake; he doesn’t want to start thinking about security cameras and motion detectors yet. He should say no.

“Yes, go ahead”, he says, and Patrick smiles.

Patrick finishes his tea and sets his notebook on the table. It’s angled so that they can both see the page, but Patrick begins to read aloud anyway. His voice is soft and clear, now and then changing a little when he’s going off-script and adding his own opinion to the careful notes. David is beginning to learn the difference, he thinks, between when Patrick’s tone is professional and when that slips. Looking back, he thinks he would have heard it that first day if he’d known what to look for. Patrick’s voice is even warmer than usual at those times, and he talks quicker, as though he can’t wait to get his words out, to keep the conversation going. Occasionally he’ll cut himself off, gentle laughter stopping in his throat like he can’t quite believe it came from him. David has only known Patrick for a few days but he already knows he wants to learn how to coax that laughter out of him more often, until Patrick stops looking surprised by it.

David doesn’t recognize the name Abbott, the family they’re being hired by, which he’s thankful for. He doesn’t think he could face another person from his old life just yet. Patrick mentions a particular piece, a necklace that’s been in the family for years, but adds that “we cover everything of theirs, so anything you think is vulnerable is worth mentioning. I’m guessing you need to visit the house beforehand?”

“Yes?”, David says, hesitant, “But not conspicuously. When I used to - um, it’s a better test of their security if they don’t know who to look for, you know?”

“That makes sense. They’re actually throwing some kind of party this weekend, if you think that could work. They’re being very accommodating”, Patrick says, but his voice has that same professional cadence to it that tells David this is Thacker and Scott talking, not the man sat opposite him. David wonders how bad it could have been, given that Patrick’s information about the Abbotts is all secondhand. He hasn’t even spoken to the family and already sounds frustrated by them. “David? The party?”

“Mm,” David says, “That depends. Birthday or Met Gala viewing, fine. Gender reveal, costume, or surprise, absolutely not.”

“I always wanted a surprise party”, Patrick says mildly, “It might be a Gala viewing party, I suppose. When is that?”

“The first Monday in May”, David says instantly. Not that that would stop him; he has occasionally rewatched his favorite red carpets to cheer himself up, which Stevie thinks is absurd but conceded to join him once when she was stoned. But - “We watched _Ocean’s 8_ less than a week ago, were you not paying attention?”

“I had a costume birthday party once”, Patrick says, paying David’s indignation no mind, “We all dressed up as our favorite baseball players.”

That pulls David up short.

For a few seconds he can only stare, slack-jawed, and then Patrick says, “David?”

“I am going to pretend you didn’t tell me that so we can continue to work together”, David says after a moment. Patrick looks like he’s struggling to hold back laughter: David watches his mouth work, lips twitching, then drags his gaze back down to his plate. He clears his throat twice, then says, “That sounds fine. Thanks.”

“Good”, Patrick says, “I’ll let my boss know you’re on board.” He reaches for his phone - which has been out of sight for the whole conversation, like he’s perfectly happy giving David a hundred per cent of his attention, or something - and David takes this as his cue to finish breakfast.

“Wait”, David says a minute later, “This weekend? We won’t have time to get you anything tailored.”

“Uh, I’m not - why would I need anything tailored?”

“For the party”, David says, waving his fork, “I’ve seen what you wear to work, there’s no way you have something already. We need to get you a suit.” The last couple of days Patrick hasn’t been needed in the office so David has been able to see what passes for casualwear in the world of insurance. Patrick’s button-down shirts have remained, but the dress trousers have been replaced by straight leg Levi’s. They really work for him, although David’s skin prickles at the thought of the rough fabric. Not that he’s - he isn’t thinking about - he hasn’t imagined putting his hands on Patrick’s thighs. Obviously.

Although now he’s suggesting they go suit shopping together, which might be even worse.

“I wasn’t going to go to the party”, Patrick says.

“Of course you’re going. I’m not going alone, that would be crazy. And conspicuous.”

“I don’t need a tailored suit, David.”

“Okay, incorrect, everyone needs at least one tailored suit. Fundraisers, galas, weddings. How have you made it this long in life without one?”

Patrick suddenly looks away, and when he speaks all the laughter is gone from his voice. His mouth goes tight and he won’t meet David’s eyes, and David curses himself for doing this to Patrick. He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong.

“Fine”, Patrick says, “But we have to have a budget.”

* * *

The night of the Abbotts’ party sees David sitting on the bed in his hotel room and trying his best not to fall apart completely. He’s drafted seven different texts to Alexis, all variations on _I don’t think I can do this_ and all unsent. He keeps twisting at his rings, moving them from finger to finger. His brain feels kind of staticky, like he can’t tune into just one thing, instead flitting between various anxieties and worst case scenarios that leave him utterly disoriented.

There’s a knock at the door.

David takes a long breath, then another, and rearranges his rings once more. Then he opens the door.

He hasn’t actually seen Patrick in the suit yet: the first place they tried was prohibitively expensive, even with David trying to stick to some sort of budget. It’s a crying shame, because Patrick had looked gorgeous in the outfit David had chosen for him. The second place had been more sensibly priced, but David had been visibly unimpressed by the first three suits Patrick picked out, and honestly still distracted by how he’d looked in the first shop. Patrick had sent him away after David had pursed his lips at the third choice of outfit, but they were all generally uninspiring so David thinks he's prepared to see Patrick in a suit.

David is not prepared to see Patrick in a suit.

Patrick looks… _God_. He’s dressed in blue, as ever, which David would tease him about except it looks so fucking good on him. The wool suit is navy, stark against his pale skin but warm and so inviting. His crisp white shirt is open at the collar and David thinks, for the second or third or hundredth time, about how badly he wants to press his mouth to the hollow of Patrick’s throat. The shoulders of the jacket are a little loose, which is a shame because Patrick’s arms are gorgeous even in his usual shirts, never mind this. David thinks it’s probably a blessing that the fit isn’t quite right, because it gives him something to focus on besides pulling Patrick into the room and skipping the party altogether. Even if that’s very, very tempting.

“David? Is everything all right?”

David takes a long moment to untangle the sound into words, and even then Patrick sounds like he’s far away. Patrick is right there, though, his smooth brow furrowing in concern. He moves like he wants to reach for David, then seems to think better of it. 

“I'm fine”, he says, “Sorry, I just -”

He hasn't had a panic attack in front of anyone since that first, awful time in Schitt's Creek. Since then he's learned to recognize them early and make himself scarce, pushing through them alone rather than risking someone asking him about his nervous breakdowns in line at Brebner's. It's not ideal, because he generally feels like he's been hit by a truck after, but it's better. Probably.

Except now he's having a panic attack in front of Patrick, who looks so concerned and so beautiful as he gestures David toward the couch. His mouth is moving, and David can hear something but can't filter everything else out, can't tell what Patrick is saying. The backs of his knees hit the couch and he sits heavily, barely aware of how he got there. Patrick kneels in front of him, in David’s eyeline but carefully out of his space, and he’s counting on his fingers, _one-two-three-four_ , over and over. David can’t understand, at first, can’t connect Patrick’s actions with his own frantic breathing, but gradually he feels the burning in his lungs begin to ease as he matches Patrick's counting.

“ - hear me? Follow my breathing, David, follow two-three-four-out-two-three - that's good, David, you're doing so good -” David's ears are still ringing but he can process Patrick's words at last. He doesn't know how long it's been. He doesn't know how long Patrick's spent kneeling in front of him, helping him breathe. He feels suddenly exhausted, all the adrenaline ebbing away.

“David -”

“I'm fine”, he snaps, “We need to go.”

His legs feel like matchsticks.

Patrick looks as though he wants to argue with David, but he doesn’t say anything as they leave the hotel room and head for the elevator. Instead Patrick just watches him. David leans heavily against the wall of the elevator and Patrick opens his mouth, but he closes it again like he’s thought better of whatever it was he wanted to say.

They’re taking a cab to the Abbotts’ house, thank God, and David is grateful for the chance to sit for a while. Patrick is carefully giving him space, just as he was in the hotel room, but the tense set to his jaw, the way he’s folded his hands in his lap, makes David think it’s a conscious effort. Like he doesn’t want to make David uncomfortable.

As they drive through Toronto the streets become steadily more familiar. Soon the houses they’re driving past are hidden behind wrought iron gates and long driveways lined with trees, but David knows what to expect. This is how he used to live.

He hasn’t been back to this part of the city; when he ran here from Schitt’s Creek he avoided it because he expected to find it too upsetting, to see the life he used to have placed firmly out of reach. There’s an element of that now, he thinks. The direction they’re driving means they won’t pass his parents’ old house, and he’s glad of that, but it’s hard. He hadn’t spent much time here, vastly preferring New York, but it was still home. And it was where he was when everything fell apart.

At some point David starts tracing circles on the fabric of his suit, over his knee. He doesn't know when, doesn't even realize he's doing it until Patrick leans across and gently rests a hand on top of David's. He jumps at the contact but doesn't try to nudge Patrick's hand away, and Patrick doesn't seem inclined to move. Instead he stays, eyes fixed on their hands while David looks at him. After a moment Patrick's thumb begins to draw small circles on the back of David's hand, slower than David was doing but still gentle and consistent. David tips his head back, trying to swallow down tears.

“David.”

“I'm fine”, David says, and when Patrick looks sceptical he says, “I'll be fine. It's just - I don't love being back here.”

“You don't have to do this”, Patrick says gently.

But David does have to do this. Even without Alexis' warning about their dire financial straits he would have to do this. He’s not spoken to many people from his old life and he knows how they’d receive him now, if they acknowledged him at all. But if he wants to work with Patrick going back into houses like this one will become routine; if he doesn’t force himself through this tonight he’ll only have to do it some other time. And he really wants to work with Patrick.

The cab stops, and David lets out a long, slow breath. He turns to Patrick.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

At least he looks the part, David thinks. Patrick has done well - very well - to find his suit in time, and he looks incredible, but David looks like he belongs. That counts for a lot here, like he knew it would, and lets them skate past the first cluster of people virtually unnoticed. He doesn’t find it easy, exactly, but he knows how he’s expected to act. A few days ago, walking to Jenna Van Housen’s apartment, he had worried that his attempts to appear nonchalant wouldn’t be enough, but the rules are clearer here. Here, David knows what’s expected of him. He knows how to look and talk and act to seem unbothered, all while carefully taking note of entrances and exits for when they come back in a few nights’ time. He’s glad to have Patrick stood beside him; the company makes David less conspicuous and less likely to be approached by other people looking to start a conversation. That, and he feels considerably more grounded with Patrick there.

The house is as grand as he expected, all soft light and high ceilings. They’re in a foyer immediately following on from the entrance hall, with the steady flow of people eventually depositing them by the foot of a sweeping staircase. It’s a good starting point for the evening, as David can watch people come and go, and begin to get a sense of the layout of the building. The catering staff weave their way between guests, encouraging them to circulate and move into the next room of the house. David watches as a woman in black and white disappears down a corridor holding a tray of empty glasses. The kitchen is a possibility for getting into the house, he supposes, but he’d rather avoid it if he can. Anywhere that takes regular deliveries is bound to have security cameras. So instead David keeps scanning the room, evaluating his options, until he’s satisfied.

He nudges Patrick’s arm.

“Are you ready to move on?”, Patrick asks, and David nods.

They follow the crowd through a set of tall oak doors into a ballroom. It’s genuinely spectacular, with an entire wall given over to windows that, in daylight, would overlook the grounds. As it is they mirror the room itself, figures in suits and gowns below the indistinct image of a chandelier, pausing to observe their own reflections. There’s a jazz quartet playing, tucked around a grand piano in the corner, and the center of the room is taken up by dancing couples.

David begins a slow circuit of the room, trusting that Patrick is still nearby. He tries to keep his gaze moving, not wanting to settle on anything for too long in case someone notices him looking. Twice he glances in Patrick’s direction and finds Patrick’s eyes already on him. It unsettles him - Patrick looks concerned, like he had in the hotel room, but there’s something else too. Something David can’t read. He expected to find pity in Patrick’s face after his panic attack, but he hasn’t seen a trace of it all night. It’s a world away from the indelicate reactions he met with in Schitt’s Creek. Instead Patrick is looking at David with a soft smile, his lips slightly parted. In the golden light of the ballroom Patrick seems almost to be glowing. His warm eyes are shining as he watches David watch the room, and it’s suddenly too much.

David forces himself to look away.

“Oh, fuck”, he says.

“What’s wrong?”, Patrick says. He still looks calm, but he shifts closer to David. Even in the bustle of the foyer, he was careful to give David space; now they’re the closest they’ve been since Patrick put his hand on David’s in the cab.

“It’s nothing, I just -”, David looks around, trying to see somewhere to hide. There’s only one exit, where they came in, and they’re almost at the opposite end of the room. Patrick tenses, and David says, “It’s fine, it’s just - it’s an ex, I don’t want to -”

“Is it him?”, Patrick asks, and David shakes his head. “But you don’t want to speak to them?”

“God, no, but there’s nowhere we can go.”

“Dance with me”, Patrick says, and David’s brain screeches to a halt.

“Excuse me?”

“Dance with me. They can’t talk to you if you’re dancing.” He offers David a hand, but he doesn’t push. He just waits.

“Okay”, David says at last, and lets Patrick pull him toward the center of the room. Patrick looks unsure for a moment as he puts a hand on David’s waist and David smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. He doesn’t mind Patrick leading. It’s better, probably, than David trying to do so when he’s so preoccupied.

David doesn’t expect much in the way of dancing - the band’s playing something slow, so they could get away with only swaying from side to side - but Patrick seems determined to give it a proper go. He finds the rhythm of the song quickly and guides David’s movements, and David is happy simply to follow along. There’s a moment of awkwardness at first, from both of them, but Patrick doesn’t seem willing to give up so easily and David doesn’t want to lose this closeness any sooner than he has to. The last time he danced with anyone was Stevie on his mother’s birthday, and it’s a long while since David let someone else lead. Last Christmas, maybe, at his parents’ party. That was two streets from here and less than a year ago, but it feels like half a world away to David. He knows, now, that this is the closest he’ll ever get to that again: dressing the part and sneaking in, and spending the entire night trying to avoid people who will look at him and know he doesn’t belong here anymore. The thought stings, as he expects it to, but it’s hard to feel totally despairing with Patrick in his arms.

His right hand has come to rest on Patrick's shoulder, fingers curled lightly against the fabric of his jacket. David can't stop looking at it, at his silver rings against the blue of Patrick's suit. They look almost gold in this light.

David tries to focus on something else, like he’s supposed to be doing. He gets a view of the whole room as Patrick spins them gently, and he tries to think about cameras and alarm systems, but it’s hard. Patrick’s got one hand on David’s waist, and it had tightened briefly before he turned the two of them. David can feel it even through the layers of his jacket and shirt, and he thrills a little when the pressure remains for a long moment afterward.

“You are shockingly not terrible at this”, David says.

“Thank you, David, that’s very generous of you”, Patrick says. He sounds amused, and when David chances a look Patrick is smiling so, so widely at him. It winds David for a second. He just nods wordlessly as Patrick says, “I did a couple of musicals in college. What’s your excuse?”

“Um, pageants? I didn’t love it, but they did teach me the importance of proper posture, so…” He trails off awkwardly, but Patrick doesn’t seem to notice. He just grins at David, his whole face lit up by it.

Patrick’s hand is warm in his. David remembers the weight of it, reassuringly brushing circles into his skin earlier in the evening. His touch is gentle, almost hesitant, as though he wants David to be able to pull away if he needs to. He doesn't want to, of course, but it's comforting all the same.

The song ends, the band immediately starting something slightly faster, and a few more couples come onto the dancefloor. Patrick lets go of David, and David tries to keep his disappointment from showing on his face. But then Patrick takes his hand again, voice hushed when he says, “Is this all right? I didn’t mean to assume -”

Every part of this is so all right by David that he barely has words for it, but he nods and says, “No, I don’t mind following.”

The ballroom is decidedly more full than it was when they started dancing, and someone jostles Patrick’s arm as he moves back toward David. Their faces are so close and it must throw Patrick off course, because the hand that was reaching for David’s waist slips under his jacket, now separated from David’s skin only by the cotton of his shirt. It’s instant and dizzying, the way David’s whole world narrows in on that spot. Heat zips through him. Patrick doesn’t seem to notice what he's done, his eyes fixed somewhere over David’s shoulder, but David can’t think of anything else. All he can focus on is Patrick's hand on his waist, the way his thumb presses slightly on David's stomach.

“Do you need to go around the room again?” Patrick asks him.

David nods, not trusting his voice. They should do another circuit actually, because David doesn’t think he’s taken anything in since Patrick led him onto the dancefloor. Patrick leads them now, and David doesn’t let himself look at him as they move. Instead he wills himself to pay attention to their surroundings, cataloguing everything he can see. The room is spacious, with a high, curved ceiling; it’s unlikely there's anything directly above it. But the huge windows give a view of the grounds, which is useful for working out how to approach - and escape from - the house. He’s not seen any indication of motion sensors monitoring the garden, but he’s sure they’re there, even if they aren’t active tonight. With security relaxed for guests, and so many people, it’s an ideal night for a burglary. He’s done that before. It was exhilarating the first couple of times, with a greater risk of being caught in the act rather than afterward. The novelty wore off, however, particularly as he found himself limited in what he could take: anything too large or obviously feminine couldn’t be taken with him easily. It certainly isn’t an option tonight.

David is so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice when Patrick slows. It isn’t until Patrick stops completely that David realizes the song has ended and they’re back near the entrance to the ballroom. He feels Patrick’s hand slip from its place on his waist, and David aches at its absence. Patrick is about to move away, he’s sure of it, and he presses his fingers onto Patrick’s shoulder for just a moment, before Patrick lets him go and this comes to an end. The wool of his suit is so soft, and David’s close enough now to see a pattern in the fabric he missed before.

He doesn’t want to let go.

“I need some air”, Patrick says. He sounds almost out of breath, although they hadn’t been dancing particularly fast. “Unless you need a second pair of eyes for anything?”

“No, that’s fine”, David says, “I ought to have a look outside anyway.” He wants to get a sense of the layout from the outside, to see which parts of the building are scalable and which aren’t worth the trouble. It isn’t until they’re almost at the entrance hall that David realizes Patrick might have wanted time away from him. They’ve spent so much time together, today and over the past few days. David knows he’s a lot - he’s been told something along those lines by almost everyone he’s dated - and he can’t really believe Patrick isn’t sick of him yet.

The weather in Toronto is about to turn, David thinks. It’s a beautiful night, a half-moon visible with only a few wispy clouds in the sky, and there’s a chill that he thinks will be permanent soon. He’s glad of it, though: the cold clears his head even as he blinks against the shock of it. Patrick looks startled by it too, his face and neck flushed pink. It suits him. David tries desperately not to think about Patrick’s open collar, about how far that pink reaches. He clears his throat.

“I’m going to walk around a bit”, he says, “Have a look at - outside, um. Outside things.” He starts walking before he’s even finished speaking, and he doesn’t let himself look back for Patrick’s reaction.

David has never been one for the outside world, particularly at night. The risk of moths alone is usually enough to keep him indoors after sunset, and he’s never lived anywhere that’s tempted him to change his mind. The Abbotts’ gardens aren’t quite the dullest he’s ever seen, but they’re in contention. Any trees that were near the house have long since been cleared, with neatly trimmed grass and uniform hedgerows all that remains. It’s boring, for one, but frustrating too as it means David will almost certainly have to climb the house itself to get inside. There’s also the question of CCTV: nothing he can see will offer much in the way of cover as he gets close.

There aren’t many people outside the house, so David takes his time as he walks around it. He doesn’t linger in a single spot for long, in case he’s caught on the cameras, and he hopes he’s not too obvious when he looks around for them. He counts seven, which is frustrating: they’re usually paired, so there’s almost certainly one he’s missed. He used to be better at this.

By the time he’s walked three sides of the house David has most of a plan in place. It doesn’t feel perfect yet, and he doubts he’ll be able to iron everything out before he has to put it into action, but it’s better than nothing. Most of his anxieties stem from being out of practice anyway, and those can only be alleviated by trying to break in and hoping for the best.

David comes to a stop near the entrance to the house, a few feet away from a group of guests waiting for a cab. Patrick is no longer where they parted ways by the front door, and David moves closer, trying to find him. He’s preoccupied enough that he doesn’t notice one of the guests approaching him until they’re almost face-to-face.

“David, babe, it’s been too long.”

He hasn’t seen Maurice in months - not since his family lost their money. David’s not sure if they ever technically broke up, since his many texts and calls went unanswered at the time. It wasn’t anything serious - they’d only been going out a few weeks - but that didn’t make it any easier. When it was happening, David had hoped Maurice might reach out to him, unlike everyone else, and he cringes now to think of his repeated attempts to get a response when there was clearly none coming.

Maurice looks much the same as he used to: bored, effortlessly glamorous in the way that tends to require quite a lot of surgery, and gorgeous. He’s looking at David with what might be genuine pity, and somehow that’s worse than Sebastien’s blatantly calculating gaze. David knows what people must think of him, knows how they must have talked about his family’s fate before ignoring his texts and forgetting all about him. He knows this, but that doesn’t mean he wants to see it up close.

“I was so sorry to hear about what happened to your family, darling. I was so shocked for you, really heartbroken”, Maurice is saying, and he probably believes it. David keeps quiet, just wanting out of the conversation, but Maurice keeps talking. “It must be so difficult to start over when you’re so completely, utterly alone.”

“Mm, I’m not sure we’d go that far”, David says, but Maurice just shakes his head.

“ _So_ difficult. Unless you aren’t alone? I saw you dancing earlier and I was astonished to see you here with someone. When I first saw you I’d hoped we might catch up.”

David’s heart sinks. He hadn’t been sure in the ballroom if Maurice had seen him with Patrick.

“Who was that, by the way? He didn’t look quite as sophisticated as your usual type. Or is that the best you can find out where you are now?”

David’s ears are ringing, but it’s nothing like his earlier panic attack. This is all anger, bubbling up and trying to force its way out of him. He feels his eyes sting and he’s sure his hands are shaking. He doesn’t want to cry. He doesn’t want to give Maurice the satisfaction.

“David!”

Patrick is suddenly beside him, a hand resting lightly on David’s back. He’s smiling, but David can feel the tension running through him.

“I’m sorry I disappeared, David, I went to get us a cab. Are you ready to go?”

Maurice is watching the two of them closely. When David doesn’t respond, he addresses Patrick directly.

“I’m Maurice. I’m an old friend of David’s.” He reaches out a hand, clearly expecting Patrick to shake it and offer his name, but neither seems to be forthcoming. Instead Patrick ignores him completely, turning to David.

“David, are you ready to go?”

Patrick’s smile is guarded, his body tense, but his voice is so warm when he speaks to David. David can’t hear the professional tone he’s training his ear to spot. He’s sure that this is all Patrick, that Patrick is asking David because he genuinely wants to know.

David nods, and lets Patrick lead him once again as they walk toward the waiting cab.

* * *

David is nervous.

David is fucking terrified, actually, which is ridiculous because he’s done this before. He’s out of practice for sure, but that’s no excuse for feeling like he’s about to have a heart attack.

It’s not the same kind of anxiety as when he had a panic attack a few days ago. This feels specific, directed; he knows exactly what’s causing it, not that that makes it any easier to move past.

Three days have passed since the party at the Abbotts’ house, and David has spent most of that time ironing out every detail in his plan, either by himself or with Patrick. He still isn’t happy with it, of course, but he feels better for having talked it through. He knows, logically, that he’s about as prepared as he can hope to be.

He’s still terrified.

Patrick shifts beside him. They’re sat in Patrick’s car, near the entrance to the Abbotts’ driveway. David had tried to tell Patrick that he really didn’t need a getaway driver or a pre-robbery pep talk or whatever Patrick thought he was here to do, but Patrick had been insistent. David wonders now if Patrick is only here because he has to be: he knows Thacker and Scott still don’t trust him, so maybe Patrick has come with him to make sure he doesn’t bolt as soon as he’s pocketed the necklace.

It’s not exactly a calming train of thought minutes before David breaks into somebody’s house. Even if it’s mostly spiraling rather than genuine fear, he doesn’t enjoy it. He doesn’t enjoy thinking that Patrick is only here with him because he has to be.

“Are you ready?”

It’s odd how quickly David has come to rely on Patrick. He’s not sure he likes it - he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop - but Patrick’s steady presence has undoubtedly helped him the last few days.

David’s voice shakes a little as he says, “It’s fine, just nerves. It’s nothing.” It’s stupid, really.

“If I told you that you don’t have to do this would that help, or just make you more stubborn?” Patrick asks, and David huffs a laugh despite himself. Patrick smiles softly, and says, “I think feeling nervous is pretty reasonable, given the circumstances.”

“Oh, well. In that case -”

“Speaking from experience, you know, from my many years as an art thief. Pre-heist jitters are normal in this business.”

Patrick is trying to distract him, and it’s exactly what David needs. He’s glad to be pulled out of his own head as he says, “And what was it that drew you to art theft?”

“It was a combination of factors, I think. Paintings are bigger than jewelry mostly, and I like a challenge. And I really liked that one of the dogs playing poker.”

“Okay”, David says, getting out of the car. Patrick’s joking, but that doesn’t necessarily make it easier to hear. He adjusts the small bag he’s brought with him, leans down so he can look through the window at Patrick and says, “I know you didn’t mean that but I am nevertheless feeling very ganged-up on, so I am going to go now.”

“There’s only one of me, David”, Patrick says, then softens. “Is your earpiece working?”

Patrick had suggested the earpieces the morning after the Abbotts’ party. He’d managed to get them very quickly, which makes David wonder if he’d had them in mind already and was only waiting for David to say yes. Regardless, David is glad of them: he likes knowing that he won’t be totally alone while he does this.

He nods at Patrick.

“See you soon?”, he says, and Patrick just smiles.

The car is parked out of sight of the cameras at the Abbotts’ front gate, but David is still inclined to be cautious. He scales the wall a good distance from the car and touches down on carefully-manicured lawn. Keeping as close to the neat red brick as he can, David begins his approach to the house. He has no intention of breaking in through the front or back of the building - they tend to be much better monitored - and the longer he can stay away from it the less likely he is to be caught on camera.

Before long David is roughly opposite the point he’s marked for entering the house. There’s a window he noticed was ajar on the night of the party - tucked away and high up enough that it’s unlikely to have been touched since - and he’s pleased to see that it’s still open now. He starts picking his way toward the house, keeping low to make use of the little cover the hedgerows give him. His knees begin to ache almost instantly. He’s out of practice and his body knows it.

David is careful to keep his eyes on the security camera that monitors this area of the garden. It rotates slowly, and he runs. He knows how much time he has to cross the distance before the camera turns back, and he knows as soon as he moves that it’s going to be a close thing. He’s slower than he’d like to be, stumbling as he starts to run. But he manages it, just, and presses himself to the wall of the house, directly below the camera. He should be invisible here. If not, he’ll soon know.

He wants to take a minute to let the burst of adrenaline fade, but if he does there’s a chance he’ll lose his nerve completely. Instead he swallows down his gasping breaths and begins to climb.

Instantly, he knows it’s a mistake. The window he’s aiming for is high - on the top floor, in fact - and he finds himself fixating on the height rather than paying attention to where he’s putting his hands and feet. He doesn’t slip, but he’s tense. His thighs are already burning with effort and he’s barely begun. His hand curls around a window ledge and it’s good, he’s got a solid grip, but he still has so far to climb and -

“David?”

He lets out a shuddering breath, pressing his forehead to the wall.

“It’s actually kind of hard for me to talk right now”, he says through gritted teeth.

“Oh. All right. I just - you sounded stressed.” Patrick sounds embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I should have realized this wouldn’t help. Are you okay?”

David squeezes his eyes shut. Now that he’s stopped moving he can hear his own breathing, loud and frantic in the still night. No wonder Patrick had noticed.

“I’m fine. Climbing. Not exactly a fan.”

There’s silence for a moment before Patrick says, “I didn’t know, I’m sorry. I guess I’ll leave you to it then?”

“Please.”

“Okay. I’m here if you need me, David.”

It’s quiet after that, so David focuses on climbing and tries to ignore how much Patrick’s voice had helped him calm down.

The window he picked out is small enough that he’s almost certain it won’t lead to a bedroom, and when he reaches it he’s pleased to see that he’s right. He can see a narrow corridor, carpeted - another plus as it deadens the sound - and carefully pulls the window open wide.

There’s a fair amount of undignified wriggling but before too long David is inside the house, carefully setting himself down on the carpet. He takes a moment to catch his breath, then begins to move.

Finding his way through the house is relatively painless. The size of the building might be daunting to some people, but he grew up in a place like this and he knows what to expect of its layout.

The master bedroom is exactly where he expects it to be, but he doesn’t bother with that. Instead he turns to a plainer door a few feet along the corridor and opens it as quietly as possible. He smiles.

His mother had had a similar room in their house, accessible from her room but also from the corridor so staff could come and go without entering the bedroom itself. She had used it primarily for wigs, but it was also where she kept any jewelry she wore less regularly. David supposes that for most people this would include especially showy pieces and family heirlooms. David knows from the moment he walks in that in this case, at least, he’s right.

The necklace the Abbotts were so concerned about is immediately obvious, on a navy display bust in front of the room’s one window. It’s utterly decadent with several rows of huge diamonds set in white gold. If this were anywhere else in the house he’d expect there to be some kind of motion or weight sensor protecting the necklace, but this is a room accessed at least semi-regularly, so he thinks it’s unlikely. He checks anyway, and when he doesn’t see anything he gently lifts the necklace from the bust and slips it into his bag.

Patrick had said that the family wanted to know if there were any other vulnerable pieces. At this stage David’s honest answer could be _everything in this room, it isn’t even locked_ , but he’s not inclined to take everything in here just to make a point. Instead he checks his bag is securely closed and turns to leave.

His mother used to own a gold brooch in the shape of a dragonfly. She gave it to a friend several years ago, long before they lost their money, but he knows she misses it now.

Its twin is sat on the dresser in this room.

David knows it isn’t the same one. His mother’s had a slight dent on one of the wings, courtesy of a six-year-old Alexis, who’d borrowed it when she wanted to dress up. _Sunrise Bay_ had needed their mother for reshoots, and Alexis had missed her, so she’d snuck into their parents’ room to play with the jewelry collection. She hadn’t been able to work the clasp on the brooch and had thrown it on the floor in frustration, then ran crying to David when she realized she’d damaged it. He’d sworn to keep her secret, which lasted all of five minutes before Adelina noticed them both acting suspiciously and he’d told her everything. It was Adelina who’d helped Alexis calm down, putting the brooch back in its rightful place and distracting Alexis with the promise of hot chocolate.

“Patrick?”, he says quietly.

“I’m here”, Patrick says instantly, like he’s been waiting to hear David’s voice.

“It’s done”, David says, “I’m going to leave now.”

Patrick lets out a long exhale and says, “I’m glad you’re okay. Do you need me to do anything?”

His voice feels so close, right in David’s ear. He sounds pleased, almost like he’s proud of what David’s done.

David turns away from the brooch.

“Maybe distract me when I’m climbing back down?”, he says, and Patrick chuckles.

* * *

David actually copes well with the climb back down, the knowledge that Patrick is there if he needs him enough to keep the fear at bay this time. He keeps his exit route identical to his entrance, something he suspects is mainly personal superstition at this point, and he’s quiet until he’s back beneath the security camera. While he waits for his chance to run back toward the trees, he forces himself to say something he’s been meaning to tell Patrick ever since the party.

“Thank you”, he says, “For calming me down the other night.”

Patrick takes a moment to respond, then says gently, “Of course, David. You - I’m glad I could help, even a little.”

“More than a little”, David says, “That was, um. Very helpful. You did exactly what I needed, actually.” He’s skirting dangerously close to a truth he’s not ready to face yet, that Patrick is exactly what he needs.

“Like I said, David. Any time”, Patrick says, but he sounds like he’s not quite done talking, so David waits. Patrick’s voice is rough when he says, “I had panic attacks for a while and - that usually helped me.”

_Oh._

Patrick seems so put-together most of the time, so confident in himself, that David is caught completely by surprise. He’s quiet while he processes what he’s heard, adds this to the picture he’s building of who Patrick is. Patrick must misinterpret his silence, though, because he says in a rush, “I don’t - I’m not really comfortable talking about what caused them, though, it’s just -”

“No”, David says sharply, and his voice is too loud this close to the house. He’s missed at least two opportunities to run while talking to Patrick, and he waits a moment for the next one, determined to move. While he waits, he says, “You don’t have to tell me. It’s not my business.”

Patrick is quiet again, and David pushes away from the house, running until he can tuck himself out of sight behind the hedgerows. He straightens up as Patrick says, “I’d like you to know. Soon, I hope. Just… not yet.”

David is still humming with adrenaline as he opens the door to Patrick’s car and collapses into the passenger seat. He’s out of breath, and no doubt the exhaustion will hit any minute, but for now he feels pretty close to invincible.

He hands Patrick the bag.

“You did it?”, Patrick says, “David, that’s amazing.”

“I might have been seen. See what happens tomorrow morning”, he says, but Patrick is shaking his head at David, smile wide.

“That was incredible. David, you - I can’t imagine how hard that must be. Thank you.”

Patrick is turned to face David in his seat, leaning forward. His words are looped on David’s earpiece, so he’s hearing Patrick’s praise twice over. He feels completely surrounded by Patrick.

David leans toward Patrick, mirroring his pose. He’s so close, still smiling like he’s sharing in David’s exhilaration. His eyes are wide as he looks at David.

It would be so easy, David thinks, to close the gap between them and kiss Patrick. He’s wanted it for days. Patrick’s mouth looks soft and fond right now, and David likes that - likes him - but he likes it just as much when Patrick’s mouth is quick and teasing. He wants to kiss Patrick, see whether he’s soft or teasing in response. David wants it so badly.

He pulls himself away and fixes his gaze on the windshield.

“Can we go, please?”

He doesn’t let himself look at Patrick. He can’t. He knows his resolve would crumble if he did.

Patrick starts the car. He doesn’t say a word to David for the whole drive back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Chapter title is from "Will You Still Love Me" by Nerina Pallot (which is also what I had in my head for the ballroom scene, though you're free to imagine something else). Spotify playlist is [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0WuTyMPgD4uqBSs04JzQlH)!


	5. wanna leave the city

In the weeks and months after that night, David would argue that a lot of things improve. He doesn’t hear anything more from Sebastien, although he doesn’t quite let himself believe he’s out of the woods yet. He works several more jobs for Thacker and Scott, presumably because the rich and powerful enjoy the novelty of a cat burglar testing their security. Patrick keeps telling him that it’s also because he’s good at what he does, but David has given up trying to understand Patrick’s unwavering faith in him. It's something that David is learning to take in his stride, although he still can’t really accept it. To David’s relief the burglaries all go fairly smoothly, although that’s not to say there aren’t a few close calls. Sometimes it’s David’s underpreparedness or his anxieties catching him out, but sometimes it’s the things out of his control that leave him scrambling to fix the situation. Regardless, Patrick is with him for every one of the jobs they take, waiting for him.

"Is this your job now? Are you, like, my handler?", David had asked him one night, frustrated. It was taking him longer than he'd like to get into a target's apartment, and Patrick hadn't complained once about the way he was spending so many evenings these days. It was unnerving.

"You mean like in _Catch Me If You Can_?", Patrick had asked, amusement clear even through the earpiece.

"Haven't seen it", David said, "Alexis put the kibosh on all of Leo's films after their blind date went south."

"Right. Well, this isn't... that. I'm here because I want to be", Patrick had said. Patrick does this a lot, derailing conversation with seemingly-innocuous statements that leave David reeling. David had distracted himself by jimmying a window open and used that as a reason not to talk for a while.

Patrick doesn't even bring a book or anything. David had suggested it once, and Patrick had spent the next evening quoting baseball statistics at him through an earpiece he couldn't switch off, so while books are still technically an option David now has the power of veto. Patrick seems to have put together that David has a fear of heights, because he had started reading from that one just as David began climbing. Much as he hated being forced to hear about sports, David was grateful for the distraction.

The following job, Patrick had quoted Barthes at him again and David almost dropped a lockpick off a twelfth-floor balcony.

David isn't totally oblivious. He's willing to concede, now, that there’s a slight possibility that Patrick may be into him. If it had just been that night in the car outside the Abbotts' house David would have dismissed it as his own wishful thinking. He's done that before, got so caught up in his want for someone that he lets himself believe it's mutual. But it keeps happening, dozens of tiny moments when he catches Patrick’s eyes lingering on his mouth or his hands. David has given up cataloging them all but they thrill him all the same. He's learned to avoid getting too close to Patrick immediately after a break-in, when his body is singing with adrenaline and Patrick looks so thrilled and David feels like he can fucking fly. Wanting to kiss Patrick is pretty much his base state by now, a low-level background hum, but it's so much harder to ignore at those times.

But Patrick is genuinely, persistently interested, and that might be even worse. Because David's done that, too. He’s fallen into bed with people he works with and it’s always, always ended badly. He can't risk losing the relationship they’ve built - as friends, he hopes, not just colleagues - for anything. David has been somebody's fling or experiment plenty. He doesn't honestly think Patrick would treat him like that, not for a moment, but even if Patrick were interested in something more long-term, David knows how that will go. When he screws up, or gets to be too much for Patrick - what then?

So David doesn’t let himself think too much about what he wants, or what he thinks Patrick might want, and ignores Alexis’ twice-weekly texts checking in on their working relationship. He and Patrick have found a rhythm of sorts now, teasing one another without rocking the boat too much, and he wants to keep things that way.

Which of course means that their next job means driving within a couple of hours of Schitt’s Creek.

David had tried to hide his reaction when Patrick suggested stopping off in Thornbridge for the night, but Patrick knows him far too well by now. It hadn’t even taken much: Patrick had asked if David knew the area, and David had told him.

So now they’re heading to Schitt’s Creek in Patrick’s ancient Toyota, and David is trying very hard not to think about what will happen when they get there. Patrick had been so adamant that David should get to see his family, even rearranging their schedule so they’d have the chance to stop in town for a couple of days. It’s not that David isn’t grateful - this, like everything else about Patrick, is hopelessly endearing to him - but he hasn’t been back to Schitt’s Creek since he took Roland’s truck and drove as far as it would take him. He isn’t sure what kind of reception he’ll get.

As a rule, Patrick doesn’t talk much when they’re in the car together. It seems to be a combination of things: Patrick is a disciplined and focused driver, because of course he is, and David had been very clear from the beginning that he would be in charge of music and subsequently that talking over _Daydream_ would not be tolerated. Patrick looks kind of shifty though, so David pauses when the song ends and waits for Patrick to speak.

“Remind me why your family lives in this town, again?”, he asks after a moment.

A few weeks ago, David might have bristled at that. But he knows Patrick better now, knows that Patrick isn’t asking to push or embarrass David but because he genuinely wants to know. It’s a fair question too. David has been purposefully vague about how he came to live in Schitt’s Creek, which Patrick has taken in stride like so many of David’s oddities. He doesn’t owe Patrick the full story, but he wants to tell him anyway.

“It was - after Revenue took our house, we ended up there. We lost… almost everything, but we were able to stay in Schitt’s Creek for free.”

“Do you own the motel or something?” Patrick’s voice is intrigued, but soft in the way it always is when they talk about David’s past. It’s like he wants David to know he doesn’t have to answer and Patrick won’t judge him for it either way.

“Um, not exactly? We - we actually own the town?”

Patrick doesn’t give any sign that he’s heard David at first, then says, “I’m sorry, what?”

“We own the town. My dad gives really bad gifts and he thought that it would be funny to - I mean I was _eight_ , who does that? And Revenue saw no value for it, seriously, it’s impossible to sell - so we ended up… there.” David chances a look at Patrick and is relieved to see that he’s smiling. He looks faintly amused by David’s increasingly disjointed rambling.

“Wait, so if he gives bad gifts - was it a gift for you? When you say _we_ own the town…”

“Yes, fine, technically I own it. For my eighth birthday I got a town called Schitt’s Creek. Are you happy now?”

“Oh, very”, Patrick says, and it’s true. He’s grinning from ear to ear. He’s definitely laughing at David now, at least a little bit, but David can’t even pretend to be upset about it when happiness looks so good on Patrick. He loves making Patrick laugh in the car because he can see all of it: the way Patrick’s whole face lights up with amusement but his eyes stay sharp and bright, looking for a way to tease David in return. So often Patrick will try to hide his smiles behind his hand, but he can’t do that now. David can see every part of it.

They drive in silence for a few minutes before David asks, “Why do you always come with me when I break in somewhere?” The words tumble out of him in a rush, and David himself is caught out by them. Patrick seems to be too, because he takes a moment to respond and when he does it isn’t really an answer.

“Does it bother you?”

“I asked first”, David says tartly. Patrick is staring fixedly at the road, which isn’t unusual in itself but his hands have tightened slightly on the steering wheel. When he speaks it’s stilted, each word deliberate.

“The first time we did this you seemed anxious. I hoped it might help if you knew I was nearby. And I wanted to be able to talk to you if you were seen or… I’ll stop if it bothers you but I wanted you to know you wouldn’t be alone if something went wrong.”

David doesn’t know how to respond to that. He’s quiet for long enough that Patrick glances over at him, concerned, and says, “Like I said, I'll stop if you want, I just -”

“No”, David says quickly, “No, you don't need to stop doing it. It's very… thoughtful of you. Thank you.”

David isn't good at sounding sincere. It's something that he and Stevie have in common. Normally he doesn’t particularly mind that any kind of emotional declaration sounds like it’s been ripped out of him but - Patrick _is_ thoughtful. He’s always so thoughtful around David then acts like it’s nothing at all to do these things for him, like he’s surprised David even notices he does them. It’s not nothing, though, and David hopes Patrick can hear the sincerity in his tone.

Patrick’s eyes are fixed on the road again and David takes the opportunity to look at him. It’s nearly spring and the days are thankfully getting longer and warmer, although too slowly for David’s taste. The sun is already low in the sky, occasionally breaking through the trees that line the highway and filling the car with warm light. Patrick looks gorgeous like this. His pale skin is illuminated by soft gold and his hair seems almost red, a rich, burnished auburn that had stunned David speechless the first time he saw it. There's a mole on his neck, right at the line of his collar, that David finds himself drawn to when they’re driving. David wants to kiss it. He wants to feel the warmth of Patrick’s pulse under his lips. He wants to mark Patrick’s skin there, where it can’t be hidden under sensible blue shirts.

It strikes David as vaguely unfair that he should know Patrick as well as he does and get to touch him so rarely. He knows how to make Patrick laugh and when it’s best to leave him to brood; he knows what Patrick looks like stressed and elated and half-asleep; he knows every inch of Patrick’s fond face and steady hands. But he doesn’t get to touch him.

David flexes his fingers, watching his rings catch the light.

“It’s the next exit.”

Patrick nods absently. They drive in comfortable silence for a few minutes more, Patrick looking for the exit and David preoccupied by the thought of seeing Schitt’s Creek again. It’s not until they’re almost in town that David remembers the sign.

“Uh, David?”

Oh, God.

“Yes, I know what it looks like they’re doing. No, we couldn’t get it removed. It’s a long and frightening story that makes a lot more sense when you meet the mayor.”

Patrick doesn’t say anything more but when David looks over he’s definitely biting his cheek to hold back laughter. David thinks he should probably be annoyed that Patrick is laughing at him but instead he just wonders at how beautiful he looks, and thrills in quiet pleasure at the fact that he’s the one who made Patrick look like that.

This is how David knows he’s in trouble.

* * *

It’s not that David has been avoiding his parents. It’s just that the last time he saw them in person he’d demanded his dad give him half a million dollars, and when it became clear that wasn’t happening David had skipped town with no plans to return. The last conversation he had with them had been four days after that, when they’d called to ask when he’d be coming back. He’d been so sure he could cope on his own, that he would be able to build some sort of life for himself in Toronto even if he wouldn’t be as comfortable as before. Most of that conversation is a blur to David - he’d felt kind of numb for a few days later - but it had only made him more determined to stay away, certain that coming home would be like conceding that they were right to assume he couldn’t survive by himself.

That being said, he’s sure that Stevie and Alexis keep them in the loop about his life. They still call him but he never answers, and it’s infrequent enough now that he hopes they’re getting the message that he doesn’t want to speak to them.

Which of course means they’re leaving their motel room just as Patrick pulls into the parking lot.

“Oh, my God”, David says before he can stop himself.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nope, all fine. Unrelated, could we park at the far end, please? All the way over there?”

Patrick raises a faint eyebrow but at least does as he’s asked while David tries to press himself into the seat and hopefully disappear completely. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t work because once they’ve parked Patrick turns to look at him, a small smile on his lips.

“Everything okay there?”, Patrick asks. David nods wordlessly and Patrick continues, “Because that couple we just passed looked kind of like they might be your parents and you seem a little on edge.”

David’s face must be doing something awful because Patrick’s smile fades as he speaks, and a moment later he says, “Do you want to wait here while I go sort our rooms?”

“Yes, please.”

Patrick gets out without another word, leaving David to sit in anxious silence in the car. This lasts all of a minute before David realizes that Patrick is now in all likelihood one-on-one with Stevie and launches himself out of the car faster than he thought he was able to move.

When David makes it into the motel office, dignity mostly still intact, Patrick is standing at the desk talking to Stevie. Patrick turns toward him at the sound of the door opening, breaking off mid-sentence. He smiles when he sees David, his entire face instantly transformed by a grin that David can’t look away from.

“David!”, he says warmly, and if he’s surprised to see David didn’t wait in the car it doesn’t show. He turns to Stevie and says, “This is him. Is it possible for him to have the room he used to use, do you know?”

Stevie is sitting behind the desk, arms folded on top of it, staring straight at David. She’s exactly where he expects her to be, looking exactly how he expects her to - unimpressed and beautiful - and he still manages to be caught out by seeing her. He hasn’t seen her once since he left all those months ago and he isn’t really sure what to expect. They didn’t even text for weeks, David far too aware of the discomfort of their last conversation and how much worse he must have made it by leaving as he did. He had texted her eventually, after gentle coaxing and later outright nagging from Alexis. It was beyond awkward at first but over time he hopes they’ve built up something close to what they had.

Still. It’s different in person.

“Hi”, he says after a long moment.

“Good afternoon”, she says, “Can I help you?”

He hates this. He can’t tell if she’s pissed or messing with him - he’d forgotten how hard it could be to read her - but he can feel both her and Patrick staring at him and he can’t do this right now, not when he’s tired and his foot’s cramping from sitting in the car for hours and he just saw his parents. The feeling of being overwhelmed is growing and it must show on his face because Patrick turns to look anxiously at Stevie, then back at David.

“Okay”, Patrick says, “I’m going to go - um - get some fresh air. Outside”, he says, grabbing a pamphlet from the front desk as he goes.

There’s a moment of silence. David stares hard at the stained carpet.

“Convincing”, Stevie says, and David snaps his head up to look at her. Her expression hasn’t changed much but there’s a hint of amusement in her voice he’s missed being able to hear.

“I think he wanted - um, because we haven’t seen each other since - it’s all very -”

“Relax, it’s fine. I’m over it”, Stevie says, and David blinks. She shrugs and says, “As are you, it looks like. Now you’ve got Patrick and his _adorable little face_.”

She’s clearly not over it, and they’re going to have to talk about it for sure, but: “I’m sorry, you’re hanging out with Alexis now?”

“It’s less an active hanging out and more that she sits in here when I’m at work and can’t leave.”

“Why?”

“My scintillating company”, Stevie says dryly. David just looks at her, and Stevie says, “I think she missed you.”

There’s something there, David knows, if he wants to dig. An admission that Stevie missed him too. David lets it go for now.

“Anyway, Patrick and I aren’t together. We’re colleagues.”

Stevie’s expression doesn’t change but David can tell she’s unconvinced.

“We _are_. We work together. And he’s - I don’t know what his preferences are.”

“David, he lit up when you walked in here. Like, full-on Christmas tree. I think you’re good.”

David’s mouth twists anxiously.

“So”, he says with forced brightness, “What have I missed around here?”

It’s a transparent attempt to change the subject. He shimmies his shoulders as he speaks as though that might hide the discomfort in his voice. It almost certainly doesn’t work, but Stevie obliges him anyway.

“I own the motel now”, she says, and David blinks. “My great aunt died and left it to me. Along with some _very_ suspicious papers talking about forwarding guests’ luggage that makes me think this whole place was a front or something.”

“Oh, God”, David says, then hesitates. All in a rush he says, “Stevie, I’m so sorry about your aunt, if I’d known -”

“It’s fine”, she says and even though it clearly isn’t David is at least relieved he doesn’t have to find an end to that sentence. Then she smirks a little and says, “Maybe you can work out what these papers are about, since you’re an international criminal mastermind.”

“Okay”, David says, “I was _none_ of those things, but - I am willing to look at them, if - if you need my help. Because we are… friends?”

She rolls her eyes at him. God, he’s missed her.

“Forget it, it’s probably nothing. I mean, the rest of that side of the family might have been involved in fraud and organized crime and firearms, but I’m pretty sure Aunt Maureen was legit.”

David stares at her.

“Is this the same side of the family as your skanky cousin?”, he asks faintly.

“Wouldn’t you like to know”, Stevie says.

* * *

Alexis arrives soon after that, looking like Vogue’s attempt at Smurfette in her scrubs - _don’t, David!_ \- and she and Stevie corral him into dinner at the café.

“Text Patrick”, Alexis tells him, “I miss his sweet face.”

“I refuse to watch you flirt with him again”, David says, “I have to work with him and it’s embarrassing to see you try so hard like that.”

“I don’t have to _try_ to flirt, David”, she says, “And maybe you should worry more about your own flirting. An adorable little thing like Patrick won’t wait around forever.”

“I’m not having dinner with you, Alexis”, he says, unwilling to even think about what she’s just said yet.

“Look at it this way”, she says, voice steely, “If we all have dinner together we can help you avoid Mom and Dad.”

She’s won and she knows it. David folds his arms defensively and purses his lips for a moment, but she knows him far too well. There’s no way he’s risking seeing their parents tonight if there’s an alternative.

“Fine. I will text him”, he says at last, and Alexis squeals.

“Yay, David!”

* * *

Patrick is already at the café when they arrive, looking nervous and slightly overdressed in one of the booths. It’s odd seeing him here in a place David had spent so much time, if only for a short time. When he left a few months ago David hadn’t imagined he’d ever come back to Schitt’s Creek, and certainly not willingly. But here he is now, with Patrick, who smiles at David as he enters but seems to falter a moment later.

“Oh. Hi, Alexis. And Stevie.”

“Should we not have come?”, Stevie says from behind David. Her tone sounds vaguely concerned, but David can see she’s enjoying this for some reason. Alexis looks positively gleeful.

“No, no, it’s fine”, Patrick says, “It’s good to see you again. I’ll just - can you excuse me a minute?”

He disappears almost before they have a chance to sit down.

“He runs away a lot”, Stevie says, staring after him.

“Yes, David, what did you do to him?”

“I didn’t do anything”, David hisses, “I asked if he wanted to get dinner and he said yes.”

Alexis stares flatly at him.

“What did you say exactly, David? This is super important.”

“None of your business”, he snaps, but she’s already snatching his phone up off the sticky tabletop.

“Okay, you asked if he wanted to get dinner ‘together’? That’s, like, so vague, David. That is not good. How is he supposed to know you’re bringing me and Stevie?”

“Why would he not think that you’d come?”, David says.

“He did only ask for two menus”, Stevie says from beside his sister, and he glares at her.

“Oh my God, David, he said he was ‘looking forward to it’? And with a little smiley face? Sweet thing thought this was a date.”

“No, he didn’t”, David says, grabbing his phone back, “Why would he think that? It’s not a date.”

“We can leave you to your date if you want”, Stevie says. It occurs to him that Stevie and Alexis getting along like this is probably going to lead to a lot of ganging up against him.

“Please stay”, he says desperately, and heaves a sigh of relief when Alexis visibly softens.

Patrick returns a couple of minutes later, by which time they’ve more or less made themselves look like a group of functioning adults, and slides into the booth beside David.

“So, Patrick”, Alexis says brightly, “How are you?”

“Uh. Good, thank you. I had a look around town earlier. Everyone was very welcoming.”

“People are so super friendly here”, Alexis says, nodding, “Apart from Stevie, obviously, but we love her anyway.”

Stevie looks deeply uncomfortable with this, which is par for the course, but doesn’t say anything.

“Oh, David!”, Alexis says, wiggling her shoulders. It gets worse as she continues, each alternating shimmy emphasizing a syllable, “I heard a rumor the general store is going to close. Poor things can’t keep it in business."

“Obviously”, David says. Her eyes are wide like she expected this to shock him, but he’s honestly surprised it’s taken this long. “Their whole layout is very confusing. It’s like they don’t even know you have to create a path for people to follow through the store. And group similar items together! Preferably by scent or color, but they keep fungal cream next to the cereal. How does that encourage the consumer to buy either?”

He suddenly realizes all three of them are staring at him. Alexis and Stevie both seem amused, but Patrick’s gaze is something else entirely. His eyes are fixed on David’s, so intense it’s almost a physical pressure on David’s skin. There’s heat in it, something fierce enough to make the back of David’s neck prickle, but there’s something gentler as well. Warmth, rather than heat. It’s penetrating and impossibly fond and seems almost… proud. Like Patrick is proud of David.

It’s a heady feeling.

“Anyway”, David says, slightly frantic, “Has the food improved here? Or is the tuna melt still the only thing not liable to give you salmonella?”

Alexis giggles and opens a menu. There’s still only two on the table so David has to share the other with Patrick. Their shoulders brush as Patrick leans forward to read the menu. He’s turned in his seat a little to see it, and his knee just barely digs into David’s leg. He's so close. David can feel the steady, solid warmth of him, pressed into David's thigh and his upper arm and his heart.

"Salmonella is still almost guaranteed, unfortunately", Stevie says, and David all but jerks himself away from Patrick. She smirks at him and David knows he's been caught. He worries for a moment that she's going to call him on it or tease him, but then she's saying something about changes at the motel and he exhales in shaky relief.

He never thought he'd miss Schitt's Creek, but right now David is so glad to be back here with Stevie and Alexis.

* * *

David would like to rescind every nice thing he's ever said about Stevie. And Alexis. And Schitt’s Creek, in general.

“What do you mean, there’s no spare rooms? When is this place ever sold out?”

“I didn’t say there’s no spare rooms. Just one”, Stevie says, “It’s yours if you want it.”

“We need two beds”, he snaps, “I don’t understand why I can’t spend the night in my old room.”

“Um, because Twyla and I are having a slumber party, David! I promised she could stay over, we’re watching _Legally Blonde_.” Alexis is doing her best impression of wide-eyed concern, but David doesn’t believe it for a moment. They’ve planned this together. He’s sure of it.

“Fine, I’ll stay at Stevie’s”, he says, and she scoffs.

“No, you won’t”, she says, “I have company tonight.” And _okay_ , they’re talking about that later. But right now there’s a more pressing issue.

“What about the room where I keep my clothes?”, he asks triumphantly. There’s no way he’s subjecting Patrick to that ceiling mirror, but he could survive there for a night. He can’t imagine the room is booked.

“Renovations”, Stevie says smoothly. She looks him dead in the eye.

“David, it’s fine”, Patrick says, “It’s been a really long day, can we just - take the room? Please?”

Patrick’s voice sounds fractured and when David looks at him he can see how tired he must be. He’s sat on the couch in the office and for once he looks unsure of himself. Almost small.

“Fine”, David says after a moment, “But I'm putting this in the motel comment cards.”

“We look forward to implementing your feedback”, Stevie says in her impeccable customer service voice. He doesn’t believe it for a second, but takes the key to Room 2 and stalks out of the office.

It’s cold, the cloudless sunny day having given way to cloudless night. Spring is coming though, and for a moment David feels sad that he won’t get to see it. He bets it’s gorgeous, the way the buds on the trees unfurl and the hedgerows start to shiver with hidden life. It’s so quiet here.

David realizes he’s drifted to a stop a few feet from the motel room door, staring at nothing in particular. Patrick hovers a couple of paces behind. He’s looking at David.

“Right”, David says abruptly, “I’ll just - door. Um. Yes.”

It’s not quite as bad as he remembers. The room is clean, at least, although the fluorescent lighting still leaves much to be desired. David drops his overnight bag at the foot of the bed, grabbing his pared-down skincare products and fully intending to head straight for the bathroom.

Patrick is stood by the door.

“This is it”, David says, brittle, “I’m too tired for the grand tour right now, but maybe you’ll get one tomorrow.”

Then he slips into the bathroom and shuts the door, trying not to think about how badly his hands are shaking.

One of the many ways in which David’s life has improved since meeting Patrick is that he can now afford something close to his regular skincare routine again. It still isn’t perfect, but the familiar rhythm of it soothes him in the small bathroom. He moves through the first few steps quickly, but his hands falter when he reaches for his eye cream. He sets it down on the edge of the bathtub, unwilling to waste it through clumsiness, and wills himself not to fall apart.

“David?” Patrick sounds close, like he’s right on the other side of the door. “Are you alright?”

“I’m almost done, I’ll - do you need to -” His voice is breathy, Patrick must be able to hear it. He really hopes he won’t.

There’s a moment’s silence.

“Can I come in?” Patrick asks, and David nods wordlessly at first before gasping out a “Yes.”

Patrick opens the door tentatively, gaze flicking around the small bathroom for a moment before landing on David. He must look a mess, but Patrick's eyes are gentle as he leans against the sink, facing David. He’s changed into pajamas already, a grey shirt and striped blue pants. He looks soft.

“I thought you might need some help”, he says, and it's a mark of how far they've come that David doesn't even bristle at the suggestion. Because he does need help, he’s a mess right now, and he can rely on Patrick to help him without judgement. He doesn’t know if he can trust Patrick yet - the thought alone still terrifies him - but… he can rely on him. Patrick is reliable.

“What do you need?”, Patrick asks him. David shakes his head - it’s stupid and small, Patrick won’t want to help him with eye cream, of all things - but Patrick’s already placing his hand on top of David’s, just as he had outside the Abbotts’ all those weeks ago. That hand starts to draw circles on David’s skin again, while the other reaches for the eye cream and Patrick asks, “Is it this? What do you need me to do?”

David has always preferred to be needed; allowing someone to care for him is a surefire way to get in too deep and end up gasping for air. But Patrick is so gentle with him, so patient, and it’s been such a long day. David can allow himself this.

“You need to use your ring finger,” he says thickly, “and not too much. It’s, um. It’s very delicate?”

Patrick nods and gets to work. He starts just under David’s left eye, a cool touch that would calm David if it weren’t Patrick so close to him. He looks at the single fluorescent striplight on the ceiling instead.

“I don’t think I’d realized how much you’d lost”, Patrick says after a few seconds. David hums questioningly, and Patrick continues, “Coming here after all those mansions and penthouses… I think you’re very brave to go back to those places. And I meant what I said at dinner, everyone I met here was nice, but I - I think you’re brave to come back here, too.”

“The only reason I’m coming back here at all is because I was a coward who ran away”, David scoffs. He’s determined to keep looking at the ceiling light so he can’t see Patrick’s face, but he feels him tense.

“Do you really think that? That it’s cowardly to - to leave if you’re unhappy?”

David’s impulse is to answer with _yes_ , that he’s been a coward his whole life, so used to taking the easy option that he didn’t even realize when his parents were buying off his galleries’ patrons. But he thinks about what Patrick had said the first day they met, that he liked to travel for work because it took him away from things. He thinks about a few days after that, when Patrick had seen him in the middle of a panic attack and known instantly what David needed. It occurs to him that Patrick might have run from something too.

David is still a coward, not least when it comes to the man in front of him. Patrick has signaled what he wants, over and over, and David has ignored it. Partly because he doesn’t trust himself not to fuck it up, but partly because he doesn’t want to take that final step toward the cliff’s edge and let himself trust Patrick. He isn’t brave enough.

But Patrick makes him want to be.

“No”, David says honestly, “I think it’s very difficult to leave something familiar just because it doesn’t feel right.”

He forces himself to meet Patrick’s eyes and is shocked by the uncertainty he sees there. Patrick is frowning, gorgeous brown eyes slightly unfocused as he bites his lip.

David nudges Patrick’s socked foot with his own shoe, and Patrick’s expression clears.

“I should go”, David says, “I’m sure you have an equally stringent skincare regimen to get on with.”

“Uh, not really”, Patrick says brittly, “I mostly just splash some water on my face and - is something wrong, David?”

David doesn’t even try to hide the horror on his face.

“We are fixing this right now,” he says, “unless you want to look middle aged at thirty-six.”

He digs through his toiletries bag and begins setting products down on the edge of the tub.

“This won’t be tailored for you, obviously”, he says absently, “There’s actually a woman near here who makes a cleanser that would be perfect for you, but this will have to do. The worst thing about living here, apart from the general lack of taste, was how far you had to drive to get anything specific. They need somewhere centralized to buy things by local craftspeople. There’s a lot of genuine artisans around here but most people don’t know where to look.”

“But you do”, Patrick says, voice teasing.

“Obviously”, David says, “I am a bastion of refinement.”

“So I heard at dinner”, Patrick says, “I was impressed by your analysis of the general store’s failings.”

“Okay”, David says sharply, “I can’t help it if I know what the customer wants from a space, and _that_ retail environment,” he gestures with one hand, mindful of the cleanser in the other, “is beneficial to precisely no-one.”

Patrick smiles gently, the corners of his mouth turned down.

“What? You want the space to guide people from one area to the next, not force them to double back on themselves. It’s very messy.”

“I’m not laughing at you, David. I really was impressed. It’s very intuitive of you.”

“Oh”, David says, flustered, “It’s not that complicated. I learned most of that the hard way with my second gallery.”

Patrick’s still looking at him like that though, so David hands him the eye cream and starts fussing with his own hair in the grimy mirror.

“You know, it really doesn’t matter to me how I look”, Patrick says after a minute, and David all but rolls his eyes at his reflection.

“It’s not just about how you look”, he says, “It’s about the feel of it, knowing that you’re taking care of yourself. It’s about what other people think when they see you. And it’s - I like having the routine. It’s a good way to decompress.” He hadn’t meant to say that so bluntly, but it’s true. He doesn’t let himself look at Patrick’s reflection.

“Am I done?”, Patrick asks.

“Mm, not quite. Moisturizer.” David still doesn’t look, fussing at his eyebrows instead. But then Patrick is standing, moving toward him in the tiny bathroom, moving into David’s space. Patrick is normally so careful to keep his distance that this closeness is unusual to David. It’s just as well, because David feels knocked off course by their proximity. Patrick isn’t particularly tall or built, but he holds himself in a way that makes David forget that. Most of the time he’s a reassuring presence, a steady constant when so much around David is in flux. Right now he’s anything but. His eyes are fixed on David’s, dark and focused and so close. David can see a loose eyelash high on his cheekbone, and he wants to brush it away with his thumb and use that split second to feel Patrick’s warm skin under his.

It would be so easy to lean forward, to close that gap and press his lips to Patrick’s. Patrick would taste like ginger and honey from the tea he has most evenings, and the chocolate cake he had at the café, and something else - something uniquely Patrick - that David hasn’t learned yet. He thinks Patrick’s lips would open under his, gentle but not tentative. His breath would be warm against David’s mouth, and David thinks he could tease a huffed laugh out of him as they kiss, or else make Patrick so breathless with it his skin would flush pink. David would cup the back of Patrick’s head with one hand, fingertips brushing the short hair at the nape of his neck, and use the other to pull them closer together. He still remembers Patrick’s hands on him as they danced, still thinks about the heat of Patrick’s fingers on his waist more often than he should. He wants more of that, but he wants to offer Patrick the same, too. David wants that. David wants.

But he can’t help but think about what would happen next. Maybe not the instant the kiss ends, or tomorrow morning, but at some point David will fuck up irreperably, or once too often, and Patrick will have had enough and want to leave. Losing Patrick now would be difficult, but to lose him after letting him see and touch and know David would be devastating.

David bites his lip. Patrick’s gaze drops to his mouth.

“Okay”, David says, “I’m going to let you moisturize and I will be next door. Not here. I’m going next door?” He edges around Patrick in the small space, grasping frantically for the door handle, and escapes back into the motel room.

* * *

When Patrick emerges a few minutes later David is already dressed for bed and lying stiffly under the covers, as far from the door as possible. His book lies open on his stomach but he hasn’t made any progress with it, head still full of Patrick’s closeness.

“I already picked a side”, he says, then panics a little, “Unless - I don’t know what your preferences are? For sides of the bed. Do you need me to move?”

“It’s fine”, Patrick says, but he’s hovering again, stood at the side of the bed like he’s not sure what to do next.

“Come on,” David says, pulling back the comforter, “I don’t bite.” Patrick’s eyes snap to David’s face and that’s it, David is officially never speaking again. The moment passes and Patrick climbs into bed beside him. He’s clearly uncomfortable - he’s holding himself as rigidly as David - and David wonders briefly if they’re going to lie like this all night, both too tense to actually fall asleep.

“Did you want to keep reading?”, Patrick asks.

“Oh. No, I’m done”, David says, setting the book on the nightstand. “Do you want me to put out the light?”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with”, Patrick says, like that isn’t a whole can of worms by itself.

David abruptly switches off the lamp beside him but that’s worse, because now it’s dark and still and he can feel how close Patrick is. There’s not really any noise to distract him, not like there would be in the city. There’s just the wind in the trees outside, the faint hum of something electrical - and probably faulty - in the motel room, and the sound of Patrick’s breathing.

Patrick shifts slightly and David feels the sheets beneath him move in response. He holds himself still.

He hears Patrick’s breath hitch as though he’s about to say something.

“Goodnight, Patrick”, he says quickly. He turns so he’s lying on his side, facing the motel room and away from Patrick. He closes his eyes.

“Goodnight, David.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are immensely appreciated 💙  
> Chapter title is from "Boy on the Bus" by Nerina Pallot. Spotify playlist is [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0WuTyMPgD4uqBSs04JzQlH)!


	6. and it never fades away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Please enjoy this chapter. Researching it almost definitely got me on some sort of watchlist.

David’s first thought when he wakes is that the motel sheets smell much better than they used to. There’s still the lingering scent of cigarettes but there’s something else as well, something clean and fresh and familiar. Comforting. He wonders if this is one of the changes Stevie mentioned the motel was making, and if so what detergent they’ve switched to. It’s nice: the sheets are rough on his skin, but he ignores that for a moment and inhales deeply. It grounds him.

The second thought David has when he wakes is that he’s alone. The bed is still a little warm, the pillow wrinkled from where Patrick slept on it.

But Patrick is gone.

It’s early, judging by the weak light coming in through the window, and David allows himself a minute’s indulgence in the bed. He’d been expecting to sleep fitfully - he usually does, more so since his family moved to Schitt’s Creek - but from what he remembers he fell asleep quickly, calmed by Patrick’s steady breaths beside him.

He has a vague memory of waking at some point in the night, disoriented by the quiet and the feeling of someone beside him. David had been unsettled by it - he thinks he might have cried out as he woke - but when he tries to remember what happened all he can hold onto is the sensation of a voice in his ear, too quiet for him to understand in his half-sleeping state, but reassuring all the same. The crisp scent of detergent is strong in his memory, and even stronger is the sense of how safe he feels. It settles in the pit of his stomach where his anxiety usually sits before burrowing deeper until it reaches the base of his spine. It works its way into him gently, like someone wants to make sure it sticks around. The details of the memory slip like water through his hands, but a little of that safety stays wrapped around his spine as though it’s his to keep.

David wonders briefly if it was a dream, or a half-forgotten memory from his childhood, but he hopes it wasn’t. He looks again at the space where Patrick slept. He really hopes it wasn’t.

The motel room door opens softly and David pulls himself into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard.

“Good morning”, Patrick says quietly, “I hope I didn’t wake you.” He’s already dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, Thermos in hand, and he looks well-rested. Seeing Patrick looking so at ease makes David realize that for once he feels the same.

“It’s fine”, David says, “Did you get tea from the motel office? I think that water’s been there since the nineties.”

Patrick flushes slightly and sets the Thermos down on the nightstand.

“It’s for you, actually. And it’s not from the office”, he says before David has a chance to object, “I went to the, uh. Café Tropical.”

David blinks hard, willing his eyes to stay dry. It’s unfair of Patrick to ambush him with casual kindness like this when David’s barely awake. Pre-caffeine he’s powerless against Patrick’s easy thoughtfulness, the way he does things for David simply because he can and in turn seems pleased by how deeply moving David finds it every time.

“Thank you”, David says roughly. Patrick always gets his order right at this point, and David still finds it touching even if it’s not surprising anymore. But - Patrick went to the café to get him a coffee. He had it put in a Thermos so it would stay warm while David slept.

David is struck once again by how naturally Patrick cares for him without David ever asking him to.

“I was reading a flyer about local hiking trails yesterday”, Patrick says, “There’s one about a half hour’s drive from here I want to check out.”

“Mm”, David says, and takes a large gulp of coffee. “Well. That sounds fun.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you to join me, David”, Patrick says, and _oh_. Of course. They spend so much time together; it’s no wonder Patrick wants to get away from him for the day. David wouldn’t want to go himself if not for Patrick. The thought stings all the same, and David tries to school his expression. Patrick must notice, because he smiles wryly and says, “I know how you feel about the outdoors. I figured you might like a day to yourself with your family.”

“Thank you”, David says eventually, setting the Thermos back down on the nightstand. He’s been thinking the same ever since they got to Schitt’s Creek and he knows realistically that he should speak to his parents while he’s visiting. It won’t get any easier the longer he leaves it, and his mother especially will be impossible if she finds out he came back and avoided them the whole time.

All this doesn’t necessarily mean he’s looking forward to seeing them.

“And then I was hoping we could catch up over dinner.”

“That sounds good”, David says. Does it? He hopes so. He has only half an idea of what he just agreed to. He can’t really use the excuse of needing the coffee because - much as he definitely needs the coffee - he feels better-rested than he has in months. Sure, the sheets are rough and it’s far too early, and there’s a pit in his stomach at the thought of seeing his parents, but for once David feels comfortable. Safe.

Patrick beams at him, and his eyes are warm. They look different in this light, and David can't tell exactly why. Maybe the sun is brighter here, early in the day and out of the city. Maybe it’s just Patrick. Whatever it is, he’s looking at David like - God, like he never wants to stop looking. David is barely awake, his skin is puffy and his hair is a mess, and Patrick is looking at him as though he doesn’t care. More than that, he’s looking at David as though he likes seeing him like this. David doesn’t usually let anyone see him this way, half-asleep and without his armor, but Patrick is looking at him with warm, honey-brown eyes and a smile like he's thrilled at the sight. His expression is fond, gentle in sentiment but almost scorching in its intensity, and David has to look down at the comforter.

He takes a breath, trying to ground himself. The clean, comfortable smell of the sheets is stronger now. It helps.

“So I guess I'll see you later, then?”, Patrick asks, and David looks up. He’s got a pretty good handle on reading Patrick by now, and sure enough there’s a slight sharpness to his smile that lets David know he’s being teased. Patrick’s gorgeous eyes are still soft though, not wanting to push.

David nods.

Then Patrick lifts David’s coffee to his mouth and drinks - which, what the fuck - before holding the Thermos in front of him for a moment. David can’t see his whole expression but Patrick’s face twitches in such a way that he’s almost certainly laughing. Patrick takes another long drink, eyes fixed on David, and sets the coffee down again. He’s heading out the motel door before David has a chance to process what just happened.

It occurs to David that, if he were to kiss Patrick right now, he knows exactly what he’d taste like.

He has to lie down again for a moment after that.

* * *

After David has showered, done his morning skincare regimen, and changed his outfit twice he’s more or less run out of ways to delay the inevitable, so he does his best to swallow his anxiety and makes his way to Room 7.

“Hi”, he says when the door opens.

His dad just stares.

“I was, um”, his skin itches; he resists the urge to fidget with his collar, “I was thinking. Breakfast?”

“David”, his dad says finally. “David, we - come in, come in.”

David doesn’t know what he’s expecting to feel as he crosses the threshold. The room should feel too small maybe, or oppressive in some other way. There should be some sign that he’s outgrown this place. Instead it just feels like a motel room. It’s dingy and stale-smelling, just the same as he remembers. But he doesn’t feel any more out of place here than he did when he first saw it.

“It’s good to have you back, son”, his dad says and - no, nope, not happening - he’s trying to hug David.

David steps back.

“Right”, his dad says. He looks winded. “Yes, of course, I shouldn’t have - breakfast sounds like a great idea. I’ll just - Moira!”

There’s some kind of indignant noise coming from the bathroom, and David’s glad that he hasn’t had to greet both his parents exactly simultaneously. His dad’s awkwardness is bad enough without being set in contrast to his mom’s histrionics. Her wigs are still tacked up on the back wall, but it’s a different set now: her spring and summer girls, as well as a handful of evergreen favorites. He wonders who helped her box up the winter wigs.

Then the bathroom door opens, and he forgets all of that in the face of another wave of anxiety.

“Well”, his mother says from the doorway, “Are we to take it from your presence that you have at last deigned to dismount from the lofty heights of the mare with whom you abandoned us?”

Everything about it - the absurd idiom, her silhouette filling the doorway like she’s entering upstage of him - makes David quite certain she’s been rehearsing this since he disappeared. He’d hoped she might have been glad to have him back but. Well. More fool him.

“Um, hi? I was actually wondering if you wanted to get breakfast.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea”, his dad says with false brightness, “Don’t you, Moira?”

She rests a hand - manicured and heavily ringed - on the doorframe, tapping her index finger. David fights to keep the impatience from his face.

“I suppose breakfast could serve as a jumping off point for your apology to us, so to speak”, she says at last. David narrows his eyes, not entirely sure when he offered to buy them breakfast, but she ignores him, saying, “And you’ve hardly given your father enough notice to slay the fatted calf for you.”

Oh, God.

“Okay, I don’t know what that means”, David says firmly, hands sharp in the air in front of him, “It’s not like I took anything of yours.”

His mom draws herself up, putting her shoulders back and lifting her chin. He winces.

“You took my brown bag”, she says, “Absconded in the night with one of the few heirlooms that were not defalcated from us. My mother gave me that bag, as her mother gave -”

“Anyway,” his dad says, slightly panicked, “maybe we can talk about that together? At breakfast?”

David’s parents were never terribly attentive toward him - he can’t remember the last time his dad hugged him, if it ever happened - but they’ve always paid close attention to one another. His dad tempers his mom, talks her down from her more hysterical moments, but she helps him, too. He’s often slow to speak, ill at ease when it comes to anything but business, but he snaps into action when she needs him to. They weren’t often apart when David was growing up - they’d follow each other anywhere, he thinks - but for the short periods where she was elsewhere he remembers his dad being sort of… less. There’s a spark in him, a confidence, that’s missing when she’s gone.

She seems mollified for now but David still half-expects her to detonate at some point, so he perches awkwardly on his parents’ bed while they finish getting ready. His mom seems to make a point of being as noisy as possible, clattering about in the bathroom while his dad hovers uncomfortably by the table, and David wonders if they’d notice if he slipped back out the door. Probably.

* * *

They take the same booth as he sat in last night, the one he thinks of as their ‘usual’ even though he hasn’t been here in months. His parents sit next to each other, opposite him. He feels pinned by their gazes, and he looks down at his hands to avoid their eyes. His palms stick to the tabletop.

He doesn’t remember anything like this from his youth, a time when they’d both sat him down to berate him for something. He’s sure it must have happened. Once. There were moments where they’d tried to pull it off when they first moved here, but it never worked. David doesn’t think it works like that, an easy and immediate shift from barely remembering your kids exist to whatever it was they were going for. This image - the two of them sat opposite him, a performance of concerned and strict parenting - is alien to him.

“Well, son, it’s certainly nice to have you back at last”, his dad says. His mom's face is unreadable, but David has the distinct impression she doesn't share the sentiment. “Big changes here since you’ve been gone”, he continues, “I’m running the motel with Stevie now. And your mother’s on the Town Council, which is exciting.”

His voice is bright but unsteady, something he heard a lot when he was small and had almost forgotten about before Schitt’s Creek. He remembers hearing that voice, uncertain but hiding it, when he was younger and Rose Video was just getting started. He’d sit outside his dad’s office when his mother was busy or out or tired of him, listening at the door to meetings and phone calls. There’s something fragile in his dad’s voice here. It’s - he sounds unsettled. David is unsettled by him.

David can hear the discomfort in his dad’s voice now, as he tries to make the best of a bad situation. He hadn’t heard it in years before they came to Schitt’s Creek. He doesn’t know if Alexis had ever heard it before then.

“I’m not coming back”, he says to the tabletop, then looks up cautiously when neither of them respond.

“Oh”, his dad says eventually, “Oh, that’s. Well, okay, David, but - are you sure you’ve thought this through? How are you planning on supporting yourself?”

Given that David tried to support himself before and found out after the fact that his parents had been buying off his patrons, he thinks this is more than a little rich, but - “I’ve had a job for months. I’ve _been_ supporting myself.”

“Oh, my dear,” his mother drawls, somehow adding at least two syllables to the last word, “we’re sure you’ve been muddling along wherever it is you’ve ensconced yourself, but it’s hardly a long-term solution.”

David doesn’t know exactly what she means by this, and hopes he never finds out. His dad’s eyes are wide in a way that suggests he wouldn’t like it.

“But it’s - I have a job”, David tries again, “I’ve been working as a consultant for an insurance company.”

They look astonished. David bristles.

“Well, that’s wonderful”, his dad says, face creased into a smile.

“Yes, Jonathan”, his mom says slowly, “This is certainly a soothing unguent following the many sleepless nights we suffered while we pondered our son’s fate. Vanished without a trace, but working in an office!”

“Okay”, David says, “I literally had Alexis come visit me in the fall. I text Stevie all the time. This was your choice.”

Stevie and his sister have both kept him abreast of his parents’ goings-on, although he’s never asked. He’s glad of it, though: even when he’d just found out about the galleries, and was furious with them, he still wanted to know. He still… cared about them.

“Oh, dear Alexis”, his mom says, apparently in the mood to test his filial affection to the limit, “Yes, quite capable of taking herself off to search for you in parts unknown, but the poor scatterbrain forgot all about my brown bag despite my specifically requesting it.” Her voice rises in both pitch and volume as she speaks, becoming almost a squeak before suddenly dropping back down.

David squeezes his eyes shut, already done with this conversation.

“What bag?”, he snaps.

She tuts loudly. David thinks there’s a good chance the whole café heard it.

“My brown crocodile skin bag. A matrilineal bequest, guarded by me for years, so carelessly tossed aside -”

“Wait, _that_ bag? With the brass clasps? I have it with me.”

“Well, there you go, Moira!”, his dad says, “That’s good, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t look pacified yet, exactly, but she at least looks like she might be thinking about it. He’ll take what he can get for now.

* * *

Later David heads back to the motel and spends most of the day hanging out with Stevie. It’s comfortable and familiar and exactly what he needs after the world’s most uncomfortable brunch, sitting on the ratty couch while she perches in the armchair and scowls occasionally at the desk phone.

“So”, David says slowly, “How was your date last night?” He punctuates the last three words with a shimmy of his shoulders and makes a point to keep smiling at her while she glares.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” she says, “but I had a very pleasant evening.”

David grins at her.

“Am I going to get a name, or -”

“Well, it’s not Mutt or your sister, and I didn’t think you got to know anyone else in town before you decided you never wanted to see any of us again, so…” Stevie’s voice trails off slightly, but her eyes are unwavering. David winces, mouth pinching like he’s sucking on a lemon, or looking at his mother’s ill-advised orange Balmain dress from a few seasons ago.

“And I am… certainly… apologetic. About that”, David says. Stevie’s gaze doesn’t falter, like she’s expecting more. And she’s right to, he knows, so he braces himself and continues, “I shouldn't have left like that. After what you told me. It was just - you were my one friend, here. I didn’t know how to be here without that.” He stumbles over his words as he speaks, the emotional honesty unfamiliar and heavy on his tongue, but he wants - he _needs_ \- to get this right. He can’t look at Stevie as he says thickly, “I’m sorry.”

There’s a long, excruciating silence where David stares at the hideous deer painting behind the desk and plays with the ring on his index finger.

After a moment she says, voice stiff, “You're forgiven, I guess. As long as you never say anything that sincere again.” She sounds stilted, clearly as uncomfortable as him, but he chances a look at her and sees a smile playing at the corners of her eyes and mouth, and David breathes a sigh of relief.

Which Stevie of course sees as a sign of weakness, and then she strikes.

“So tell me about Patrick.” She's teasing him - bullying him, really - and she rests her chin on her palm, face tipped toward him in what could almost pass for genuine interest.

“There's nothing to tell”, David says, “We work together. I… spend a lot of time with him.”

“Wow”, Stevie says, totally deadpan, “That must be difficult. Do you rub along okay together?” She waggles her eyebrows.

“That's disgusting.”

“What, so you expect me to believe you just turned out the lights and went to sleep last night?”

David doesn't say anything, but he can feel his ears burning.

“ _David_.”

“What?”, he cries, “I work with him. I _like_ working with him. What, do you think I should throw that away for a - a one-night thing?”, David says. He doesn’t look quite at Stevie as he speaks, knowing she’ll read him too easily if he does. Because the really embarrassing thing is that however much David wants Patrick - which is a ridiculous amount even without Patrick sharing his coffee and his cleanser and his bed - he still has more fun with Patrick as his friend than he ever did with most of his exes. Certainly more than he did with Sebastien, with whom every moment felt like a performance or a test. Being with Patrick has been easy. Of course that was before last night, when he fell asleep to the steady sound of Patrick’s breathing and the warmth of his body beside David’s. Now he’s had that just once he doesn’t know how to manage not having it again.

“Oh my God” Stevie says after a moment, “You've got it bad.”

“No”, David says, “No, this is just a reasonable response to a - a passing interest.”

Stevie doesn’t respond at first, just shifts in the armchair so she’s got her legs crossed with her feet tucked under her knees, like a little kid. Then she looks at him, dark eyes piercing, and he braces himself.

“I'm only going to say this once,” Stevie says, “because I'm already very uncomfortable and I haven't even started. But I think it would be a mistake to pretend you don’t want this just because it scares you. He was literally glowing when you walked in here yesterday. It was gross. So I don’t buy that this is a passing interest for him or you.” Her eyes are fixed on him, uncompromising, as she says, “And neither do you.”

It’s maybe the most he’s ever heard Stevie say in one go, and startlingly frank. He knows how difficult she finds it to be open like this, and he takes a moment before replying. The last thing he wants is to make her feel dismissed or like he doesn’t value what she’s said.

A decade and a half of failed relationships doesn’t disappear overnight, though, and his voice is a hoarse whisper as he says, “I’m scared I’ll fuck it up.”

“Obviously”, Stevie rolls her eyes, “Patrick seems all normal and nice, it’d be weird for you not to be scared. But that’s no reason not to try.”

David looks away, blinking rapidly. His eyes sting.

“Besides, he’s good for you”, Stevie continues mercilessly, like she’s decided to get all her emotional honesty for the year out of her system in one go. “I like you more like this. And it kind of seems like you do, too.”

God. David preferred her when she sat at the desk and ignored his requests for towels.

“Weren’t you just telling me to be less sincere?”, David asks around the lump in his throat.

“I know”, Stevie says, grimacing, “I’m pretty sure this whole conversation is giving me hives.”

* * *

They go to the café for dinner again, mainly because there’s nowhere else to go. Patrick gets back from his hike in the late afternoon and they walk to the café together, with Stevie promising to join them once Alexis gets back from the vet clinic. It’s a little unnerving to David, how close Stevie and his sister have become in his absence. He supposes that’s the reason for Stevie’s uncharacteristic openness with him: Alexis has never been shy about her feelings, and it’s not like Stevie has anyone else to talk to. He should think about it more, probably, but Patrick’s shoulders brush against his as they walk into town, and it’s… distracting.

Patrick looks good. He seems energized by the hike, with a brightness in his eyes and cheeks that’s hard to look away from. David tries desperately not to think of Stevie’s comments about ‘glowing’ but it’s hard when Patrick seems almost lit from within. The way he’s carrying himself is different, too: he seems more relaxed than usual. David hadn’t thought he looked particularly tense before, but he’s definitely more at ease now and it suits him. It puts David in mind of the first day they’d met, how he’d found Patrick’s unselfconscious way of moving reassuring. He still does, of course, but now he can admit to himself that he also finds it pretty fucking hot.

Patrick’s hair is still damp from the shower. It’s curling slightly at his ears and the nape of his neck, and there’s a single drop of water snaking its way down from his right ear toward his collarbone.

David thinks very hard about not tripping over his own feet.

“I had a call from my boss at Thacker and Scott this afternoon”, Patrick says. David's heart jumps into his throat, anxious as ever. But Patrick's beautiful face is smiling, eyes bright with excitement, so David tamps down the fear that he's about to be fired and dragged off to prison and instead asks, “Oh?”

“There’s, uh, a new client, if you’re interested”, Patrick says, “They’re kind of a big deal.”

He’s grinning but it’s a fidgeting, antsy thing, like he’s desperate to share it with David. David indulges him.

“Tell me more”, he says archly, voice pitched low with exaggerated intrigue and genuine desire.

Patrick swallows audibly.

“It’s, uh. The Metropolitan Museum of Art? In New York.”

David blinks.

“I’m sorry, are you asking me to rob the fucking _Met_?”

“I think technically the Met are asking you to rob the Met, actually.”

David’s stopped walking in the middle of the sidewalk. He thinks he may have stopped breathing, too. His mind whirls.

“Why - why are they - what, do they expect me to just walk out of there with ‘Washington Crossing the Delaware’?” He’d rather not. It’s not really his style, as either an art connoisseur or a thief, and it must be at least twenty feet wide.

“Nope, still just jewelry. Sorry”, Patrick says, not looking sorry at all, “They have an exhibition coming up of famous pieces from movies - costumes and jewelry, and vintage posters - and we cover a few items being loaned to the museum.” He’s come to a stop too, moving in front of David so as not to block the sidewalk. He’s standing less than a foot away, eyes flicking over David’s face. The corners of his mouth are turned down slightly, making that small odd smile David loves, but his eyes seem concerned by David’s panic. Even though that’s a totally reasonable reaction.

David doesn’t respond to Patrick’s words, still trying to process the fact that he’s been hired to rob one of the most famous museums in the world. He exhales slowly, trying to steady himself, but now all he can focus on is Patrick standing inches from him. He’s raised a hand like he wants to reach for David but he seems to think better of it, instead rubbing at the back of his neck. He’s as near as he was in the bathroom last night, except now it’s worse because David’s present enough to actually enjoy it. Patrick has the beginnings of laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, presumably a result of constantly teasing David and never having used eye cream before yesterday. It’s lovely.

David takes a deep breath. He can smell the beginnings of spring, clearer out here than in the city. There’s the rich, waxy scent of new leaves on the trees, punctuated by the sourness of late afternoon sunlight heating the sidewalk. Pollen tickles his nose. But the thing that really throws David is the return of the scent he found himself surrounded by when he woke up this morning. He remembers he’d found it reassuring and familiar, although he wouldn’t have been able to say why. He can now.

It’s Patrick, he realizes. Patrick’s two-in-one shampoo or his generic body wash, which David should probably be embarrassed about liking so much, but it’s more than that. It’s something about Patrick specifically that puts him at ease.

“David?”, Patrick asks softly. His warm eyes are huge, focused completely on David. His gaze flickers across David’s face as though he’s trying to read his expression, work out what David’s thinking. His mouth pinches slightly and he says, “We can say no, if you think it’s too much.”

“No, it’s - it’s fine”, David says, flexing his fingers, “Come on. We’ll miss Twyla’s meatloaf if we don’t get there soon.”

Patrick’s lips quirk upward like he can’t help himself, and he keeps a careful eye on David for the rest of the walk to the cafe.

* * *

“Okay”, Patrick says quietly once they’re seated, “I have more details about the pieces we insure, unless - do you think we should wait till we’re back at the motel?” His voice is low, like he’s afraid they’ll be overheard, but he’s smiling with that same restless excitement from earlier. He’s enjoying this, and David indulges him.

“Oh, nobody here is going to care. My mother comes here for breakfast every day; I think everybody just tunes us out at this point.”

Patrick still doesn't look convinced, so David says, “You know what we're doing isn't technically illegal, right? They want us to do this?”

“No, no, I know”, Patrick says fondly, “But I'm sort of excited anyway.” His smile is wry, like he knows he's being ridiculous, but he doesn't hold it in. He lets himself smile anyway. David loves it.

“So”, David says, “What exactly are we going for?”

“One of our clients is a private collector, so there’s a few pieces we cover being loaned to the museum for an exhibition in a few weeks”, Patrick says. He has his phone in front of him to check the details, but he keeps looking up at David as he speaks. He’s still smiling.

David’s mind catches up to itself.

“A few weeks?”, he says. He’d been so preoccupied with the idea of breaking into the Met, of all places, that he’s a little slow on the math. He gets there now, though, voice rising as he panics: “In a few weeks it’s May.”

“Yes, David, that is generally how months work.”

“This is - this is for the Met’s Costume Exhibition”, David says. He’s being loud, probably, but he can’t quite tell. His ears are ringing.

“Uh, yeah, I think so”, Patrick says, “There’s something about a Costume Institute in the email, let me just -”

“I refuse to break into the Met Gala”, David says.

“Okay”, Patrick says easily, although his tone suggests he barely knows what that is. “Can I ask why?”

 _Because every person there will either remember what happened to my family or have forgotten all about me_ , David doesn’t say, _And I’m not brave enough to face that_.

Instead he flicks a hand dismissively and says, “Rihanna’s always there and she has some feud with Alexis I’d really hate to get in the middle of again.”

Patrick blinks at him, then says, “That sounds reasonable” in a voice that tells David he absolutely doesn’t think it’s reasonable, but isn’t going to push.

“Also”, David says, “Tickets are thirty thousand dollars.”

Patrick sputters a bit.

“So”, David says, “Our earliest chance will be the first week of the exhibition, when it’s busy. It’s a temporary exhibit, so the floor plan is different each year, but they tend to group chronologically. And the layout could work to our advantage - the walls aren’t original, so our earpieces should work underground. Some of the heavier costume pieces have extra wire supports otherwise they sag, so - what?”

Patrick is staring at him.

“Are you just a really big fan of the Met, or…?”

Oh.

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating”, David says haughtily, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, “It’s a very, um. Interesting museum.” He actually did plan this out, a few years ago, mainly for the satisfaction of knowing it could be done. “Also, there was this headpiece they had for the _Savage Beauty_ exhibit that was just - oh, my God.” He still thinks about that piece, although he doubts he could pull it off now.

“Right”, Patrick says, bemused, “Do you need, um. A team?”

“God, no”, David says quickly. Patrick looks faintly pleased at this, which David files away to think about later before saying, “More people means more opportunities for things to go, um. Really catastrophically wrong? I prefer to work alone.”

“I remember. Like Beyoncé.”

It’s so unexpected that David has to laugh. It bursts out of him, quiet but vibrant, and even when the sound disappears he can feel the smile wide across his face.

Patrick’s expression has gone slack.

“Um”, David says, covering his mouth with one hand, “However, I have occasionally been persuaded to -”

“Patrick! David!”

Alexis appears seemingly out of nowhere, perching next to David before shooing him further into the booth. Stevie hovers at the head of the table.

“Oh, my God”, David snaps at his sister, “Wear a bell, why don’t you?”

“It’s not my fault I’m so light on my feet, David”, she says, gesturing for Stevie to sit, “What were you talking about, anyway? You two looked very cozy.”

“None of your -”

“Insurance policies for small businesses”, Patrick blurts, “It’s really boring, Alexis, we shouldn’t keep talking about it.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you”, Alexis says with a pout, “But I actually, um. Love hearing about insurance. Tell me more, David.”

David rolls his eyes.

“Patrick, it’s fine. They both know”, he says, and Alexis’ eyes light up.

“I knew it! What are you going to steal? I saw the cutest set of Isabel Marant rings the other day and you technically owe me for Christmas and Hanukkah, so.”

“That’s actually not quite how it works”, Patrick says, sounding a little alarmed, “We only look at things my company already insures.”

“Oh. That’s not as fun as before, David.”

“Oddly enough, I have to be more selective now”, David says, acrid, “Which is why I won’t be asking for your help.”

“Um, I was an _excellent_ fence, David”, Alexis says indignantly, “I didn’t get stopped once at that fundraiser for blind dogs.”

“You put a selfie of you wearing the necklace on Instagram and tagged the owner!”

“Okay”, Stevie says loudly, “Can we maybe refocus a bit? What are you stealing this time?”

David gives her a small smile, grateful that she, at least, is trying to keep them on task, and Patrick says, “We’re actually still confirming exactly what our client’s loaning to the museum, so for now we’re looking at general security.” He looks at David again, checking in, and David feels his mouth twist into a grin before he can stop himself.

The conversation kind of slips away from David after that. Alexis and Stevie are disconcertingly enthusiastic and well-informed, although Alexis’ experience tends more toward escaping undetected with jewelry than the actual theft of it. She does have a few suggestions that David will grudgingly concede are useful:

“You should use alnico, David. The magnetic field will completely fry the museum’s sensors.” She beams at Patrick and tells him, “It’s this iron alloy they use in, like, farming and construction. Alex James had tons at his farm in England. Obviously rare-earth magnets are better but it’s so hard to get them outside of mainland China.”

“I know someone who might have some, if it’s for construction”, Stevie says, and David stares at her. “What? I happened to really enjoy shop class at school.” It’s transparently a lie but he doesn’t say anything, and the conversation moves on.

David tries to pay attention, to listen as Stevie and Alexis paint broad strokes of security, exits, possible complications, but his eyes keep drifting back to Patrick. It's so strange, and so, so good, to see this man here in Schitt's Creek. Patrick didn't know him before, didn't know him as he was when he got here. He's only seen David as he is now, after he struck out without his parents and ended up with a best friend he adores and a sister he actually likes, not that he'd ever tell her. Patrick sees David here, in the place he came to when his world fell out from under him, and apparently he likes what he sees.

Twyla comes by with their food while the four of them are poring over the floor plans on the Met’s website, blown up large on Alexis’ phone, and Patrick scrambles to hide his notebook. He ends up shoving it across the booth at David, then frantically mouths “Sorry”, wide-eyed, as Alexis and Stevie carry on unperturbed.

“Oh, hey, Twy!”, Alexis says after a moment, “It was so good to see you last night.” She’s got her head tipped upward and her eyes closed as she smiles, but her voice sounds genuine.

“You too, Alexis”, Twyla says, equally genuine. That doesn’t mean anything though; David didn’t get to know her well before but she seems like the most uncomplicatedly nice person he’s ever met. Then Twyla frowns slightly and says, “Stevie, are those the specs for the Harris cooled thermal imaging cameras?”

Stevie just stares, mouth open, and Twyla says, “My ex-stepdad used to work for this bank in Elmdale and he had me make flashcards of different security systems. He said the Harris ones stop working properly a few degrees above room temperature.”

“Did he, now”, Patrick says, sounding strangled.

“Is, um. Does your stepdad still live near here?”, David asks, and Alexis elbows him. His voice has gone high, sort of breathy, but he doesn’t quite know how to fix that right now.

“Nope, sorry”, Twyla says, mouth twisted to one side, “He got caught using marked bills after they had an armed break-in, and it turned out he planned the whole thing. Good luck with whatever you’re looking at, though!”

She heads back to the café kitchen, sunny as ever. The four of them look at each other for a long moment, and then:

“What the actual _fuck_?”, David cries.

* * *

After a surprisingly not inedible dinner (the trick, Alexis tells him, is to avoid meat, dairy, and any vegetable that needs to be cooked) the four of them make their way outside, wandering toward the motel. Stevie is in a good mood, by her standards, and puts up only the most cursory protests when Alexis links their arms together. It’s odd to David, how close they’ve become in his absence. It makes him wonder what else he’s missed out on.

Patrick’s quiet beside him, but his eyes are bright as he takes in Main Street: the intersection and its stop sign, the cluttered windows of the general store, Bob’s Garage. It’s warmer tonight than last night and they take their time a little more. Patrick takes full advantage, looking around like he’s trying to commit Schitt’s Creek to memory. His hands are in his pockets as they walk, which is probably for the best because David’s never been more aware of his own hands. They seem to be itching with nervous energy, fidgeting of their own accord, and he’s afraid he’s going to do something stupid.

He wants to hold Patrick’s hand.

“This is me”, Stevie says when they’re still a few minutes from the motel. They’ve gone past her apartment, from what David remembers, and he wonders if she’s going to see whoever it was she was with last night.

“I’ll, um. I’ll see you tomorrow”, David says, uncertainty turning it into a question. He rubs his thumb in the crook of his elbow, grounding himself in the feel of neoprene on his skin.

“I’ll be at the front desk”, she says with a gentle quirk to her mouth that might be a smile.

David breathes out shakily.

“Right”, he says, relieved, “Good. That’s good. I’ll, um. I’ll see you then.”

“Goodnight, David”, she says, and heads down a quiet side street. David just watches for a moment and then, when he becomes aware of the lump forming in his throat, drops his gaze to his cuticles. He’s been neglecting them lately; he should fix that.

“Are you okay?”, Patrick asks softly. Alexis is a few yards ahead, clearly giving them space while pretending to be glued to her phone. Affection bubbles up in David at that, and it doesn’t lessen when he looks at Patrick.

“Mm. Yes. I think?”, David says, and when Patrick’s brow furrows he says, more firmly, “I will be.” He thinks he’s starting to believe it.

* * *

Caught up in the uncomfortable sincerity of his earlier conversation with Stevie, David had completely forgotten to ask her about booking a second room for the night. The motel office is locked, and Alexis announces that she and Twyla have plans to watch the second _Legally Blonde_ film - which, God, why - so David has to come to terms with the fact that, for the second night in a row, he’s going to be sharing a bed with Patrick.

They’re both quiet as they get ready for bed, Patrick methodically repacking his bags ready for them to check out tomorrow. They don’t exactly have deadlines in this job, but David knows that stopping off in Schitt’s Creek was an indulgence from Patrick, and David is so grateful to him for that. Patrick takes the bathroom first, after David reminds him to use - at the very least - cleanser and moisturizer. He wonders if Patrick knows to use aftersun.

Patrick comes back out after a few minutes, which David spends mostly picking at a corner of the comforter and not thinking about the fact that they’re going to sleep in the same bed again. He gives Patrick a wide berth as he heads for the bathroom and tries desperately to focus on other things as he gets ready for bed. He’s not nearly as panicked as he was last night but he is jittery, knowing that Patrick is on the other side of the thin plywood door. He turns the taps on high, tries to focus on the routine he’s laid out for himself. Last night he’d told Patrick that he liked it partly for its own sake, and it’s true: the structure of this part of his evening is like an anchor, tethering him in place when he feels at risk of being overwhelmed. It helps.

And then David hears the squeak of springs as Patrick gets into bed, and he nearly drops his moisturizer.

It gets a thousand times worse when he opens the bathroom door and sees Patrick sat up in bed, a book in his hand. He’s on the same side as he was last night, nearer to the door, and he looks soft in the lamplight. He smiles when he sees David. It feels so domestic, so familiar, that David has to pause for a moment. He’s never really managed that, but seeing this - seeing Patrick like this - makes him dizzy with longing. David has wanted people before, usually more intensely than they’ve wanted him, but this side of it is new to him. He wants Patrick, wants to kiss him and find out what that smile tastes like, wants to press closer to him and feel Patrick’s body warm and reassuring against his own. He wants to reach for Patrick, to hold him in his anxious hands and feel them calm with newfound purpose.

But he also wants this: to walk across the room to the bed they share, and climb in beside Patrick, and sleep next to him. And wake up next to him tomorrow.

Patrick is still smiling at him, book open on his lap, and David aches to touch him. He tamps the desire down as he pulls back the covers and settles nervously in the bed. His sleep shirt and sweatpants make him feel vulnerable, exposed. He tamps that down, too.

“I’ve asked Stevie if we can do a late checkout tomorrow”, Patrick says softly, “So we don’t need to leave until twelve if you want. I know you’re not really a morning person.” His voice isn’t teasing or annoyed, but straightforward: David doesn’t like getting up early, so they won’t have to get up early. For a moment David feels so seen he can’t bear it.

“Okay”, he says quietly, the smile clear in his tone even as he tries to keep it from his face. He clears his throat. “Thank you.”

Patrick smiles at him, and closes his book, and turns out the lamp.

* * *

David’s first thought on waking is almost the same as yesterday’s. He’s surrounded by the same feeling of safety, the same clean, fresh scent, but he knows now that both are because of Patrick.

David’s second thought on waking is that Patrick’s hand is on his stomach.

There’s no direct contact, thank God, because David’s not awake enough to be sensible about that yet. Patrick’s hand is resting on top of the comforter, and the comforter happens to be on top of David’s stomach. It’s fine. He can feel the weight of Patrick’s arm on his waist, can see how Patrick’s fingers are curled into the fabric slightly, just below David’s ribcage. But it’s fine.

And then Patrick shifts behind him and it’s very suddenly not fine, because Patrick is pressed along his back, shoulder to ankle, and David can’t get away from wanting him. Patrick’s nose is tucked into the juncture between David’s neck and shoulder. He can feel Patrick’s breath on his skin. It’s like it was when they were dancing, months ago now, and Patrick’s hand had slipped under David’s jacket and pressed against his skin. He remembers the headiness of that feeling, how he’d felt overwhelmed as the world seemed to zero in on that spot where Patrick was touching him. Only now it’s worse because Patrick is touching him in so many places, all of them clamoring for his attention. Patrick’s lips are brushing the skin at the top of his spine. Patrick’s chest rises and falls against his back in the steady breaths of deep sleep. He can feel the heat of Patrick everywhere.

David closes his eyes.

It seems unfair to him that he should be the one who’s awake and dealing with this when Patrick’s normally an early riser. Now he’s stuck with a decision he doesn’t want to make, all because he woke up first. He should move, get up and leave Patrick to wake up by himself. He should remove himself from this situation before it becomes something he wants over and over. Last night he’d wanted to fall asleep next to Patrick and wake up beside him. Now that’s happened, is happening, and David aches to think he’s never going to experience this closeness with Patrick again.

It’s sort of absurd how safe Patrick makes him feel. It’s not just that, of course: Patrick makes him laugh, and doesn’t let him off the hook easily, and - right now especially - makes him so turned on he can barely stand it. But mostly Patrick makes him feel safe in a way David didn’t really think he’d get to feel. He remembers feeling stunned at Patrick saying he wanted to trust David, the day they met. He remembers tripping over that thought, both the suggestion that David could be a person worth trusting and that Patrick was so willing to trust him. He remembers telling Patrick that he didn’t feel the same and wonders, now, if that’s still true.

There’s a knock at the door.

He can feel the instant Patrick wakes up. He doesn’t move away from David immediately, but he does go very still. The hand on David’s stomach tenses, then relaxes, and David feels Patrick’s breath hitch against his neck. David doesn’t move.

“David!”

He is absolutely going to murder Alexis.

David gets out of bed slowly, which he hopes Patrick will read as morning sluggishness rather than David’s desire to stay, to burrow deeper into Patrick’s warmth, to turn to face him in bed and kiss him awake. But unfortunately David’s sister is outside and apparently doesn’t want to see her next birthday, so David drags himself to the door and pulls it open.

“Oh, yay, David! I was so worried you’d already left and I’d missed the chance to say goodbye to Patrick.” Alexis is dressed in running gear and her eyes are alert as she looks around the room, taking in the rumpled bedding on David’s side and Patrick, barely awake in the middle of the bed. Her mouth twitches. “Hi, Patrick!”

“Why are you here?”, David asks irritably.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in, David?” She pouts at this, tilting her head to one side.

“No.”

“David,” she says seriously, “that is so rude. I came here to offer you a favor, which is a very cute and selfless look for me, and you’re making me feel unwelcome.”

“You are unwelcome.”

“I honestly don’t see why you wouldn’t want my help”, Alexis continues like she hasn’t heard him, “I have way more experience with organized crime than you, and you really don’t want to be stuck with something you can’t move along to a buyer. That is not good, David.”

David doesn’t respond at first, annoyed that Alexis is still pretending not to understand that David isn’t actually _stealing_ anything, but -

“Hold on, what? What are you saying?”

Alexis rolls her eyes.

“I’m coming with you to New York, David. Obviously.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are extremely lovely, or come say hi on Tumblr @flashbastard 💙
> 
> This chapter got my all-time favourite betaing comment from @lovely_narcissa, which was: I just want them to kiss so much fuck you
> 
> Chapter title is from "It Starts" by Nerina Pallot. Spotify playlist is [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0WuTyMPgD4uqBSs04JzQlH)!


	7. tell the stars to give a sign

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so, so much fun researching and writing this chapter. I highly recommend you design your own Met Gala and Costume Exhibition, because I loved it
> 
> I know less than nothing about art so this chapter, more than any other so far, owes so much to @lovely_narcissa. Thank you so much for helping me sound half-coherent here, and for helping me write about New York when I've never been. You are the absolute best
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this chapter 💙

Alexis doesn’t come with them, thank God, because - as Patrick points out - they won’t actually be heading to New York for at least a month, and she does have a job she should probably stay in town for. It’s not that David doesn’t like seeing his sister; he misses her far more than he ever expected to, especially since he went back to Schitt’s Creek. But this way he gets more time with Patrick, just the two of them, and. Well. He’s beyond pretending he doesn’t love that.

It’s not as if they spend every day together. Stevie had told him that this didn’t seem like a passing interest for Patrick, and David is beginning to consider admitting that might, possibly be true, but that doesn’t mean he has to push his luck. He has no intention of overwhelming Patrick and driving him away any sooner than absolutely necessary. Honestly, he’s a little shocked it hasn’t happened already.

So: they see each other most days, and they meet up for dinner most nights that they don’t, and they stay in the same hotel. It’s genuinely nice - David enjoys Patrick’s company in whatever capacity he’s offered it - but he thinks about those two nights in Schitt’s Creek more often than he should. It’s manageable in the day, when they’re together a lot anyway and he has Patrick’s teasing to keep him company. But at night, knowing Patrick is so near but not quite reachable. Knowing how it feels to wake up in Patrick’s arms, his heartbeat at David’s back. Not knowing if Patrick is thinking about that too.

It’s getting to be more than he can bear.

They still have some days apart, and that’s fine too. David’s always been good company for himself, a trait born of necessity rather than preference, and he likes to have some time alone. On days when he’s not needed he wanders through Toronto or Ottawa or Buffalo. Sometimes he visits museums or galleries but as the weather improves and spring settles in he finds himself just… walking. He tries to find parks and cafés and quiet little shops, his tolerance for crowded spaces somehow even lower than it used to be. It’s nice. He likes it a lot. But there’s an itch now, especially in the late afternoons, when he wishes he had something more to do. It lessens when he gets to see Patrick in the evenings, and they fill each other in on their days in a way that is beginning to feel familiar to David. But it lingers all the same.

“It’s - I don’t know”, Patrick says one night, “I used to like traveling for this job, but now… I’d rather stay in one place, you know?”

“Mm”, David says, because it’s the first thing that comes to mind that isn’t _please don’t make me do this alone_. He could do it, probably, with someone else from Thacker and Scott. But he wouldn’t enjoy it.

“And it’s still good”, Patrick continues, “I like helping people. Getting them through forms and policies and red tape, that’s good. I’m good at it. But I don’t really enjoy it, you know?”

David does know, is the thing. He’s not a people person by any stretch - certainly not like Patrick is - but it was something he always loved about his galleries: taking the time to get to know a buyer, watching which pieces they lingered over and extrapolating from what they weren’t saying exactly what they were looking for. Sometimes it took weeks to work it out, but it was so satisfying when he got it right. It was the kind of success that couldn’t be rushed, because it came from getting to know a patron and learning what they needed when even they didn’t know. He’d always thought he was good at it.

David can see how Patrick, who loves to be useful - who genuinely enjoys helping _David_ , of all people - would be frustrated by dealing with clients only in terms of policy numbers and insurance forms. He wants to help him, though he’s at a loss as to how. But… he wants Patrick to be happy. It’s that simple, really.

It’s something he turns over in his mind as they head back to Toronto, this time for a custom-made tiara. David is glad of the two distractions, because that itch to do something _more_ is only getting harder to ignore. He finds himself walking further from the center of the city and its tourists, looking through shop windows at the kinds of places patronized only by locals. Some of them are beautiful, if not quite to his taste. He thinks about the general store in Schitt’s Creek, apparently on the cusp of going out of business. He thinks about its rich wood floors and gorgeous high windows. He thinks _maybe_.

“Can I ask you something?”, Patrick says at dinner a couple of weeks later.

“Mm?” David is maybe not as focused on the conversation as Patrick is, admittedly, but - food.

“Actually, it’s - never mind, it’s really none of my business, and you shouldn’t -”

“Oh, my God, what?”, David asks, exasperated. Patrick’s flushing beautifully, stumbling over his words, so David’s pretty sure whatever he wants to ask won’t be good, exactly. It doesn’t stop him from pushing.

“I just -”, Patrick stops himself again and David raises an eyebrow, smiling slightly. Patrick’s mouth flickers in response, and he says, “I wondered, I guess, why you didn’t. Uh. I mean, you were couchsurfing when we met, which seems…” He trails off again, but David gets the gist of it.

“Okay, well ‘couchsurfing’ sounds desperate”, David says, then when Patrick looks stricken: “You want to know why I didn’t steal a few million dollars’ worth of necklaces and start afresh wherever I wanted?”

Patrick looks chagrined for a moment, then nods.

“Well, Alexis is right, for once. I actually don’t know anything about moving jewelry on. When I took stuff before I just… gave it to friends who thought it looked nice, or whatever. So it seemed sort of impractical to start now?” It’s true, but it’s not the whole truth, so he braces himself and says, “I didn’t want, um. I didn’t want to set myself up to lose everything again. We got everything above board last time and that didn’t even matter, so I just… I didn’t want to make it any easier for them.”

He feels kind of raw when he finishes speaking, and the feeling worsens when he looks up from his plate to see Patrick looking equally fragile opposite him.

It’s only as he’s getting into bed that night that David realizes it didn’t even occur to him to talk obliquely about his past. He admitted to Patrick - without even thinking about it - that he stole those pieces a few years ago. Patrick knows that now; it’s as good as a confession. It scares him how easily he’s handed that over to Patrick, so easily he didn’t realize he’d done it. Patrick probably won’t take that information straight to the police, David is fairly sure, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying. His body already trusts Patrick, craves the safety of Patrick beside him at night, but the rest of him isn’t quite there yet. Isn’t ready to be.

* * *

Alexis does join them eventually, a couple of days after they arrive in New York. It’s nice having her there for the most part, especially because she shows up the day of the Met Gala. He’s glad of the company as they watch the red carpet on TV in his hotel room, since Patrick’s polite interest doesn’t quite outweigh the fact that he clearly has no idea what they’re talking about. 

“Honestly, David, this is so disappointing. I know for a fact Emmy still has that Dolce and Gabbana evening dress I lent her in 2012 and even that would be better than this.” Alexis is wrong, of course; wearing something off the rack to the Met Gala is unthinkable, but David will admit that the offerings so far have been lacklustre.

“I just don’t understand why actual movie stars are so bad at dressing up as movie stars”, he complains, “This should be literally the easiest thing in the world for these people.”

“David, I thought you said you didn’t like costume parties”, Patrick says from where he’s reading across the room. He’s mostly leaving them to it, but David’s looked over at him - quite a lot, actually - and he’s been smiling slightly in a way that makes David think he’s rather enjoying listening in.

“I don’t think I said that? Actually?”

“Yep, when we were invited to the Abbotts’ party”, Patrick says, “You said Met Gala _viewing_ parties were acceptable but costume and surprise parties were not.”

David blinks.

“Okay”, he says slowly, because that definitely _sounds_ like him. But that was months ago, and David can’t quite fathom that Patrick was taking note of his ridiculous opinions as far back as that. He doesn’t want to think about what that means. “But - to be clear - the Met Gala isn’t a _costume party_.”

David’s point is somewhat undercut by Solange choosing this moment to arrive dressed as the stepmother from _Snow White_ , but she looks amazing so he’s not particularly upset. Some people, at least, can adhere to a theme.

“Is Cate Blanchett wearing velvet and faux fur?”, Alexis says a few minutes later, “Poor thing must be roasting.”

* * *

The Met is closed for the next two days, so Alexis declares herself in charge of other ways to keep the two of them occupied. She keeps them away from his old neighborhood, which he’s thankful for: he’s more or less made his peace with a lot of what he’s lost, but that doesn’t mean he wants to see it again. Plus the Rick Owens store is right around the corner, and David’s really trying to save his money for the first time in his life. It’s not that Thacker and Scott don’t pay him well, but David sends some money to Alexis each month, trusting that she won’t tell their parents who it’s from, and. Well. He’s beginning to have plans for the rest of it.

Instead they end up near the Met, doing what could charitably be called people-watching but David thinks is mostly just where they ended up when Alexis’ heels got to be too much for her. She makes a fuss as they pass a coffee shop’s outdoor tables, claiming she couldn’t possibly walk any further, so they end up there, sitting opposite the museum.

“This is fun, though, David. It’s like… my last big city adventure before I throw myself into education and commit myself to my betterment.”

“I think you might be overselling it”, David says, “Literally everyone has a high school diploma.” There’s hardly any bite to his voice though; he’s so proud of who she’s becoming - who she’s choosing to become - in this new life they’ve been thrown into. It’s not so much that Alexis is making herself into someone else, more that the things that he loves about her are coming to the fore.

“Ugh, David, you’re being very dismissive of my journey right now. I start next week and a good big brother would be, like, supportive of my growth, helping choose my outfits -”

“I am supportive”, David says quietly, then cringes. “It’s just. I don’t know how you can do it.”

She rolls her eyes.

“I had to talk to the school administrator, but it’s not _that_ hard, David. You just make a few calls, fill in a form or two, and you’re done.”

“No, I mean… Don’t you feel like you’re going backward?” David would. David does. He was glad of the chance to visit Schitt’s Creek but he’s sure he can’t go back for good. It would be too much like giving up, like admitting to his parents and his friends in New York and, worst of all, himself, that he can’t do anything without help. That he’s failed. 

“It’s not going back, David”, Alexis says. She sets her drink down and rests her hands on the table between them, offering contact without forcing it. She says, “This would be going back. Coming here. Or - if I’d gone with Jenna and Leisha when Dad nearly sold the town.”

David remembers, suddenly, the day he met Patrick, when he’d seen Jenna Van Housen for the first time in months and she’d been wearing Alexis’ bracelet. He’s almost overwhelmingly thankful that they didn’t sell Schitt’s Creek and Alexis hadn’t ended up back with that crowd.

“We’re never going to be those people again, are we?”, he says quietly. She looks at him for a long moment before shaking her head.

“I don’t think so. I think even if we got the money back we couldn’t be the same as we were. It’s like,” she breaks off, voice cracking slightly, “I spent a whole year at Adrien Brody’s ranch in the Andes, and by the end of it we still hardly knew anything about each other. But with Mutt or - or Stevie - they just. It’s like they’re looking _through_ me, you know?”

David does know. He’s used to it now but had hated it when they first got to Schitt’s Creek, the way these people he barely knew could look at him and see through every mannerism to the things he wanted to keep hidden. Protected.

“Like, at least Ted is nice about it”, Alexis says, “I bet Patrick is too, all polite and smalltown-ish.”

This throws David for a moment. It’s true that Patrick has that same unnerving ability to see right through David, something that’s only become more precise over the past few months. But Patrick is never really _nice_ about it. He looks at David, or says something teasing but firm, and he never, ever lets David off the hook easily.

Alexis knows that Patrick is nice because he's incapable of really being anything else. She knows he's interested in David because he's deliberately obvious about it even as David avoids the issue. But she doesn't know even half as much about Patrick as David does, and something in David thrills a little at the thought.

“Does Ted know where you are right now?”, David says in an unsubtle change of subject, “I know you’ve never had a job before, but you are supposed to tell your boss if you’re leaving the country.”

“Ugh, David”, Alexis says, flicking a sugar sachet at him, “Being James Cameron’s muse was basically a full-time job, so I think you’re being very unfair right now.”

“That was for, like, six months a thousand years ago. It doesn’t count.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter because Ted does know where I am. I booked time off”, and the words are obviously strange to her. She flicks her hair behind her shoulders and says, “And you only have my talents until Monday, so. Don’t forget to use them.”

David rolls his eyes, about to argue with her - he’s already told her what he needs from her for the robbery and if he can’t trust her to remember then she won’t be allowed to help at all - but she’s standing abruptly and saying, “Your best option for leaving is that door on the northeast corner, by the way. None of the cameras on this side of the street catch it directly and it’s the only one staff haven’t used while we’ve been sat here. So. More likely to get forgotten on security sweeps.” She boops his nose gently.

Then she offers David her arm, like their mom’s been doing since he was thirteen and took him to his first _Sunrise Bay_ wrap party, and the two of them make their way back through Manhattan.

* * *

“I’m sorry, you’ve never been to the Met before?”

Thursday morning sees David and Patrick standing in line for the exhibition. It’s a beautiful spring day, David is about to spend hours in one of his favorite places in the world, and Patrick just dropped an almost impossible revelation on him.

“David, I’ve never been to New York before.”

“But we’ve been here for _days_. How is this not the first thing you did when you got here?” David has been trying to keep himself calm while they wait, fidgeting with the cuff of his sweater while Patrick stands next to him and looks very distracting in his jeans. They’re Paige today, rather than Levi’s, and they look. Well. David is distracted.

“And how would you have felt if I’d gone here for the first time and not invited you?”, Patrick asks innocently.

“Mm. Well”, David says, and purses his lips. Patrick’s right; just the thought of it has David indignant. And a little sad too, because he can already think of two or three pieces he wants Patrick to see, and David wants to see him see them. “I suppose I could offer a private tour after the Costume Exhibition.”

“I’d like that”, Patrick says softly. He looks so beautiful, his hair and eyes different shades of the same warm, rich brown and his whole face relaxed in a smile. Then his gaze sharpens a little and he says, “After that can we go to Times Square? I want to make sure I see all the sights before we go, you know, really soak up the full tourist experience -”

“Oh, my God, imagine?”, David says with an uncomfortable laugh, “I know you’re joking but just in case, um. We won’t be doing that. No. Unless - unless you really want to?”, he says anxiously.

“Don’t worry, David”, Patrick says as they finally make it to the entrance of the exhibition, “As long as I get to see the dogs playing poker I don’t mind what we do.”

* * *

The exhibit is genuinely interesting, when David can get himself to focus on it. Had he still lived in New York he’s sure he’d have visited an embarrassing number of times. As it is he figures he’s only got this one chance, because it’s really not the same when he’s the only one there and the lights are out and he’s there to steal something. It’s frustrating, because there’s so much to see: he’s trying to keep track of security systems, visible and otherwise, and make a note of where to find the pieces insured by Thacker and Scott. But he also wants to take in the art around him, the clothes and jewels and paintings. Most of all he wants to take in Patrick taking it in.

As it is he has to compromise, only keeping half an eye on Patrick as they move through the first few rooms. They come to a stop in front of a series of Mucha posters: portraits of Sarah Bernhardt as Gismonda, as Medea, as Hamlet. In the last of these she’s dressed in a thick cloak, deep turquoise and lined with fur, which David supposes explains Cate Blanchett’s costume from the other night. All of them are exquisite, delicate lines coming together to form a striking whole. They’re still vibrant with color after more than a century, the reddish brown of her hair a constant against a background of gold and purple and blue. So much blue.

There’s a piece of jewelry beside the posters, something with pearls Mucha designed for Bernhardt, but David hardly notices it. He’s too lost in the details of the portraits. There’s a pattern haloing her head in the first of them, something sort of Celtic made to look like a mosaic. David loses himself in it, studying the tiny squares. They don’t always fit together - some of them are slightly too big or too small, nudging another out of alignment - but the sum of those intricate parts is still somehow cohesive. David loves it.

Then someone jostles him as they pass, and the spell is broken.

He starts to apologize, not to whoever that was - God, he really hasn’t missed this part of New York - but to Patrick for keeping them here for however long. But when he turns Patrick is already looking at him, smiling gently.

“We should - um…”, he trails off when Patrick shakes his head.

“Take as long as you want”, he says, and David has to bite back a smile.

“Okay.”

They move through the first few rooms slowly. It’s interesting: there’s a lot of information about the early studio system and how it saw designers paired with particular actors, enabling them to build relationships across the years. It treats the whole thing as a development of the relationship between artist and muse, which David appreciates. He’s always preferred working with artists who are willing to collaborate. Too far in the other direction and his job would become almost impossible, and there were a few who, like Sebastien, would ignore their muse's discomfort in favor of their art. David could never be at ease with that.

There's a whole room of Adrian's work, including some from _The Wizard of Oz_ , but it's _The Philadelphia Story_ David’s interested in. The pieces aren’t showy, but they are intricate - a diamond engagement ring and matching bracelet, displayed alongside one of Katharine Hepburn’s costumes. The two belong to the same private collector, insured by Thacker and Scott, and they’re two of the pieces David’s been asked to try to steal. It’s workable, from what he can see, but he’s here to make sure. 

David steps a little closer, pretending to focus on the gold beading on Hepburn’s costume. The jewels are displayed behind glass, which makes David’s job a little more difficult, but it’s hardly an insurmountable challenge. He can’t see any additional security here, whereas the weight sensor alarm is obvious in the case displaying Judy Garland’s ruby slippers across the room. He’s inclined to believe, then, that the museum is relying on their standard security for most things, and only using additional protection for the exceptionally valuable items. It makes sense, because even their standard security is more daunting than anything David’s ever faced before, but he’s still determined to be cautious.

“Everything okay?”, Patrick asks softly, and David nods.

There’s more traditional art as well as the costumes: a stylized poster for _High Society_ , publicity stills, dozens of vividly colored costume sketches. David loves it all, is determined to soak in as much as he can, but whenever he looks over at Patrick he feels a twinge of disappointment. He’s not quite sure what he was expecting to see but he knows he doesn’t find it on Patrick’s face. David knows full well that not everyone feels about art the same way he does; he knows he gets too intense about this as he does everything else, but Patrick doesn’t even look bored, just lost.

The next section of the exhibit holds less of David’s interest and none of the pieces he’s looking for, so he takes the opportunity to pay closer attention to the security cameras. They move slowly - he makes it fifteen seconds for them to pan from one side of the room to the other, but he wants to treat it as ten to be safe. They’re the thermal imaging ones Twyla had known about: top of the range and very precise, but not infallible. He hopes.

Once he’s satisfied he goes in search of Patrick and finds him frowning at a costume Theodor Pištěk designed for _Amadeus_. It should be ridiculous - the floral jacket, the cravat that’s more lace than anything else, the cotton candy wig - but David has always rather liked it. Not for himself, not since he was sixteen and dressing himself for the first time, and usually getting it wrong. But he likes what the costume conveys. The silhouette is nominally accurate, he guesses, but the ornamentation is so exaggerated, so decadent. So _eighties_. It manages to do both somehow, but it seems from Patrick’s face that he’s not nearly as impressed.

“Are you good, or -”

“I’m fine”, Patrick says, “I’m fine, sorry, I’m just. Thinking. Are you ready to move on?”

David nods, glad for the most part to leave this room behind, and they head toward the final section of the exhibit.

* * *

“Oh, my God.”

“David? Are you okay?”, Patrick says, but David can’t respond. He just nods, throat tight.

He had known, logically, that there would be costumes from movies he loved. That was likely. It’s a huge exhibition, and David probably saw more movies than most people growing up. But knowing that is very different from being faced with their costumes in the flesh.

“Oh”, Patrick says beside him, “That’s from _Pretty Woman_ , right?”

It’s beautiful. The individual elements are gorgeous - long white gloves, that incredible red dress, the necklace - and put together they become… David thinks iconic really is the only word for it. He remembers the first time he saw the movie, loving this costume as the work of art that it is. He remembers the second time he saw the movie three days later, loving what it said about the characters. How they felt and how they wanted to be seen. There’s confidence there to be sure, bold and bright, but there’s vulnerability too. All of it laid out for the audience if they wanted to look.

“Wait, wait. You’ve seen _Pretty Woman_ but not _Bridget Jones’ Diary_? Why?”

Patrick doesn’t reply but there’s a slight twist to his mouth that makes David almost certain he’s being laughed at. He studies the costume too but, just as before, he doesn’t seem able to lose himself in it like David does.

“I’m sorry”, David says, surprising himself, “I know this must be really boring to you. You don’t have to wait for me, or -”

“No, no”, Patrick says quickly, “I just… I don’t see art the same way you do, I guess.”

“Oh.”

That’s not at all what David had been expecting. Patrick’s voice is almost longing, as though he wants to see these pieces through David’s eyes.

Patrick isn't actually all that easy to read, he supposes. When they first met David had to pay close attention to understand what Patrick was feeling, cataloguing variations in his voice and smile and mannerisms and using them to build a picture of How Patrick Brewer Feels Today. At the very beginning it was confusing to him, the way Patrick's voice would swing between professional and fond, or how his smiles were sometimes a turning down of the mouth, not up. He's learned, is still learning, but there's still so much he doesn't know.

He doesn't know, for example, how to use his own hands to calm Patrick when he's agitated. Instead he just tries to talk him down, hands fluttering uselessly in front of him. He doesn't know how it would feel to kiss Patrick, beyond presumably _very nice yes more please_ , if Patrick would smile into it or be deadly serious. He doesn't know what Patrick looks like when he comes.

He doesn't know these things, but God, does he want to find out.

For now, though, David wants to see Patrick fall in love with art.

“Come with me”, he says, braver than he feels, and Patrick does.

* * *

“The first thing you have to understand,” David says, leading them through the second floor, “is there is no right way to look at art.”

“Oh, good”, Patrick says, “So you’re absolutely fine with me liking the dogs playing poker, then.”

David doesn’t need to turn around to know that Patrick’s grinning at him, but he wants to see it anyway. It’s gorgeous.

“Technically I have to be”, David says with a grimace, “But in practice I am very tempted to leave you here.”

“Which is where, exactly?”

“Nineteenth century Europe”, David says, “The Annenberg Collection.” They’re almost there now and he tries to reshape the anxiety simmering in his chest, transform it into excitement. Patrick will like this. He’s going to love it. David’s almost certain.

“Huh”, Patrick says, “I had you pegged for a postmodern kind of guy.”

David shrugs slightly and says, “I don’t, um. I don’t hate it? Some of it. But some of it is, like, needlessly insular, just responding to other artists or pieces at the exclusion of the viewer, which -” He cuts himself off, aware he’s getting carried away, but Patrick’s just smiling at him. He doesn’t look bored at least, and David finishes awkwardly, “I used to come here a lot when I first moved here. And later it was - I liked running galleries. But sometimes you get sick of reclaimed plastic sculptures of congressmen as a statement on body image, you know?”

“I don’t, actually”, Patrick says flatly, but his eyes are fond. “So is there a particular painting you had in mind?”

“Here”, David says, leading him into the room.

The painting is situated between two doorways, which David had actually forgotten. He knows he must have spent hours here over the years, lost in the swirling patterns of paint. The colors are as vivid as he remembers, rich blue and gold and green, but he’s sure there’s details that have slipped away from him. He wants to take them in again, but more than that he wants to watch Patrick see them for the first time or, better yet, discover details of his own.

“It’s Van Gogh, right?”

David nods, pleased, and says, “It’s called ‘Wheat Field with Cypresses’. There’s another version in London but this is my favorite.”

Patrick doesn’t reply but his gaze is intense, flicking across the canvas. David watches him for a moment before turning his own eyes to the painting. There’s a patch of blue in the middle that David has always found captivating. It’s the exact shade the sky turns on hot days in Schitt’s Creek, a color he’d never seen in real life before he moved there. He’d never seen it in a city. It’s a paradox of sorts: still unmistakably blue, but simultaneously yellowish with heat without ever seeming green.

“I like the sky”, Patrick says quietly, “This bit in the middle”, and David thinks he might cry right here if he’s not careful.

“I, um”, David squeezes his eyes shut, forcing the emotion back, “Me too.”

“Can I ask you something?”, Patrick says, and David has to bite back the _anything_ on his lips in favor of nodding. Patrick pauses for a moment before saying, “Why this painting? Why do you like it?”

David twists his mouth as he thinks, not wanting to rush his answer.

“I like the immediacy of it”, he says after a moment. “I like that something painted in a field one afternoon a hundred years ago can still be here. I wanted - I never thought I was doing that with my galleries, that would be ridiculous, but. I wanted to create something that could last? And that I was… proud of.”

Patrick doesn’t say anything for a long moment, which David is grateful for. He’s still unaccustomed to the level of sincerity that comes so naturally to Patrick and that Patrick brings out in him; he panics sometimes at how easily these things fall from his lips, just because Patrick asks. David concentrates on the canvas, twisting one of the rings on his index finger and so lost in his own anxieties that he almost doesn’t hear when Patrick speaks.

“I used to be engaged”, he says, and David’s fingers stop twisting. He doesn’t know how to respond or, really, if Patrick wants him to, and after a moment Patrick says, “We were together for a long time and I - she was my best friend, really, but - I never felt -” He breaks off, voice cracking, and David wants to touch him in this moment more than he ever has before, if only to offer comfort. Instead he stands uselessly beside Patrick, hands held tight in front of him when they should be on Patrick’s shoulders. After a long moment Patrick says, “It never felt right with her. It didn’t matter what I - and I didn’t know why, until. Uh.”

David doesn’t say anything at first, determined to listen as Patrick speaks. Then he wants to process what he’s hearing. Maybe it should surprise him, but he can see how this would fit with what he’s already learned of Patrick. He’s the kind of person who loves to help other people, that’s long been clear, and David can understand that Patrick would be willing to do that at the expense of his own happiness. David hopes he knows that isn’t necessary here.

“I think I know better now,” Patrick says, looking once more at the painting, “why it didn’t feel right. I think you helped.”

There’s an admission there, David thinks, or maybe two admissions intertwined, but he knows if he pulls at that thread he’s absolutely going to lose his grip on his emotions. He chooses not to respond immediately, instead letting Patrick’s words settle on his skin, work their way in and make a home in the very core of him. Patrick is unswervingly sincere as a rule, but it’s hardest to deal with when he turns that toward David. David isn’t particularly used to people liking him, never mind saying so.

“Thank you for telling me”, he says quietly, not wanting to leave Patrick hanging too long. “I - thank you.”

Patrick smiles, just slightly.

“Thank you for bringing me to see this”, he gestures at the painting, “I - I really love it, David.”

“Well, fortunately you said a lot of the right things. I know I said there isn’t a right way to look at art but -” He stops himself, not quite willing to say something as exposing as _we like the same shade of blue_ , but it’s a near thing. He fumbles briefly before saying, “I’m glad you liked it.”

Patrick nods, teeth worrying his bottom lip. He’s completely lost in the painting now, and David means to turn back to it as well, but this is what he was hoping for downstairs. This is what he wanted to see: Patrick, oblivious to everything around him, unable to look away from the canvas. 

“It looks like summer feels”, Patrick says. David looks at him, at his warm, whiskey-brown eyes fixed on the painting in front of them, and all he can think is _yes, it really does_.

* * *

They tear themselves away from Van Gogh eventually, and Patrick suggests a walk in Central Park.

“Fresh air’s good for you, David”, Patrick says with a grin, “Where’s best this time of year?”

“You’re letting me pick?”

“You said you used to come here a lot”, Patrick says with a shrug, but his eyes are intense, “Where else did you like to go?”

David went to a lot of places in New York. Sometimes he went by himself and sometimes he had people tag along, trading their company for drinks or party invitations, but either way the result was the same: he felt lonely. He hadn’t known it at the time. It wasn’t until he put a name to the feeling in Schitt’s Creek that he realized how long he’d been carrying it, but at this point he’s pretty sure he’s been lonely most of his life. Ever since Alexis stopped being there every time he turned around, maybe.

He’s been wary of visiting old haunts while they’re here in New York, in part because he doesn’t want to see anyone from that time in his life if he can help it. But he’s also unsure of what he might feel if he goes back to these places; he’s worried the loneliness will find its way back inside of him. David can admit that he’s in a pretty good place now, better than he’s been in a long time, so he’s not exactly keen to head back to places he felt isolated for so long.

But Patrick wants to know, and David wants to show him, so he settles on one of the few places he thinks even he would struggle to be unhappy.

“I didn’t come here often”, he tells Patrick as they walk toward the reservoir, “I preferred to go to Japan, obviously, do the whole thing properly. But, um. That’s not an option anymore. So.”

It’s late in the season for cherry blossoms, but not so late that David’s missed them altogether. He almost prefers them like this, when the flowers that remain are less vibrant. They’re a subtler pale pink, and the line of trees behind them is verdant with young leaves. It’s a gorgeous combination, softer than the sparse branches of late winter that the earlier blossoms stand out against. The sun is high above them, its warmth having burned away the mist coming off the water and turned Patrick’s hair that beautiful coppery color David is glimpsing more and more often. He can’t wait for summer, when he’ll see it almost every day.

Patrick doesn’t say anything for a long moment, which David can understand: maybe Patrick wants to process this by himself. Maybe he hates it and doesn’t know how to tell David politely. Maybe -

“It’s beautiful”, Patrick says.

“Oh, thank God”, David says in a rushed exhale, “I’m - yes, yes it is. I’m glad you like it.”

“I do”, Patrick says absently, “I like it a lot.”

They make their way to a wooden bench set a few feet back from the water. There’s a running track snaking its way around the reservoir, but at this point in the day there’s almost nobody near them. David can see a woman with a stroller and a group of student-looking types, but they’re a good distance away and don’t seem to be coming any closer. The wind picks up for a moment, carrying the sound of the students’ laughter, but for the most part there’s just the rustling of the blossoms above their heads and the rush of traffic out on Fifth Avenue. The city feels half a world away.

“David, I - I had a really nice time today. With you.” Patrick is sitting so close on the bench that David can feel the heat of him. His eyes are fixed on David’s. They seem different in the spring sunshine, almost honey-colored and flecked with hazel and green. David can’t look away.

“Mm. Well. Likewise.”

It’s not fair, really, because David struggles to concentrate around Patrick even at the best of times. Now, after Patrick has indulged his rambling and asked to see art that he loves - has been so unfailingly sweet, in general - it’s a wonder David can speak at all.

Patrick shifts a little nearer. His knee brushes against David’s, presses into his thigh, and every nerve in David’s body sings at the contact.

“I always have a nice time with you, actually”, Patrick says. And then he’s leaning forward, and David moves unconsciously to meet him, and -

It’s nothing like he imagined.

So many times when he pictured this moment David figured that he’d be the one to kiss Patrick, rather than the other way around. Patrick has telegraphed his interest plenty but never taken that final step, never leaned in and pressed his mouth to David’s like David so desperately wants him to. So David assumed that he’d be the one to take the lead while letting Patrick decide the shape of it: wait for him to lay his hands on David before touching him in response, keep himself from deepening the kiss like he wants to. He’s thought about how Patrick might put a hand on his shoulder, thumb brushing over his collarbone. He’s imagined his own hand curling around Patrick’s waist, a mirror of that night they danced together. Patrick would be gentle in his hesitancy, David thinks, and he’s imagined keeping himself gentle to match.

Other times, when Patrick’s eyes were bright and he had spots of color high on his cheeks, David had wondered if Patrick might not be the one to bridge the gap. It feels that way sometimes, when they’ve finished a job. David’s body sings with adrenaline while Patrick waits for him, his anxiety on David’s behalf obviously melting away when David returns. But he’s still antsy on those nights, and David’s hoped on more than one occasion that it might spill over into a frantic kiss. David has imagined Patrick surging forward, hands cupping his face, almost bruising in their urgency. He’d pull David into him and David would go so, so willingly. David wouldn’t hesitate. He’s wanted this for so long - not quite from the moment he met Patrick, he thinks, but close - and he doubts he’d hold back if Patrick didn’t want that. Instead he’d place his hands on Patrick’s gorgeous, solid shoulders and anchor himself, opening his mouth against Patrick’s and losing himself in it.

But it’s nothing like he imagined.

He leans in slowly, watching Patrick for any sign of uncertainty. But Patrick is leaning too, moving forward to meeting him in the middle. His eyes are still fixed on David's, like he wants David to know beyond a doubt that it's him Patrick wants to kiss. That David isn't a substitute for somebody else. He looks right at David, looks through him, until almost the last moment when his eyes drop to David's mouth.

Patrick’s lips are dry but not chapped, and soft against David’s. He’s gentle, a light pressure on David’s mouth that nevertheless has David’s blood rushing in his ears. It’s overwhelming in the best possible way, to have this at last after wanting it for so long. He feels almost giddy with it. He can feel the curve of Patrick’s lips, quirked up as though he’s smiling into this kiss - their first kiss - and the thought alone makes David gasp a little.

Patrick shifts closer at that, his mouth open and warm. He puts a hand on David's chest but there's no weight behind it. Instead he just rests his palm on David's sweater, above where his heart is, like he wants to feel his pulse through the neoprene.

David uses his hands a lot, although it's not necessarily something he actively thinks about. Sometimes he doesn't know he's doing it until he realizes that whoever he's speaking to isn't watching his face but instead following his hands through the air. He doesn't always mind, though. Too much eye contact can make him feel too seen, too known.

This time David's hands are deliberate and cognizant. He reaches forward and rests one hand on Patrick’s gorgeous shoulder, grasping at the steady warmth of him. His other hand cups around the back of Patrick's neck, cradling his head. His thumb brushes the divot there, feeling the delicate, buzzed-short hair, and Patrick makes a quiet noise. It’s high and soft and swallowed up by David’s mouth, and David wants to hear it a hundred times over.

Patrick pulls away slowly, almost reluctantly, and David pitches forward slightly trying to follow him. It should be embarrassing, maybe, but Patrick looks as dazed as David feels. His lips and cheeks are pink and his eyes are dark. He looks so beautiful.

“There’s another reason I always come with you on jobs”, Patrick says after a moment. His voice is quiet but David can hear the happiness threaded through it all the same. Patrick looks at him, eyes soft, and says, “I know I said it’s so you weren’t alone if things went wrong, and that’s true. But... That first time, you came back to the car and you looked - God, David, you looked incredible. You looked like you could do anything at all. I wanted to make you feel that way.”

“You did”, David says, “You do.”

Patrick is smiling again, and it’s David’s favorite: a soft, slow thing that happens in stages. His lips part and the corners of his mouth tip upward, but a moment later the smile stretches wider, like Patrick’s caught out by his own happiness. _I did that_ , David thinks.

“Well”, Patrick says after a moment, “Likewise.”

There's a word for how David is beginning to feel about Patrick. He tries not to think about what that word might be.

“I can get you a coffee? Or donuts, maybe?”

David is nodding before Patrick’s even finished speaking, but he can feel the fear kicking in already. Patrick is going to walk away and decide he can’t do this with someone he works with, or realize he’s not actually interested in men, or that he is interested in men but not David specifically, or -

“Hey”, Patrick says from beside him, “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Their second kiss is brief and chaste and still leaves David reeling. It’s just this: a brush of Patrick’s lips against his, slightly clumsy because David isn’t expecting it and Patrick is just barely holding back a grin. Then Patrick stands, ducking his head as he smiles at David. The tops of his ears are flushed pink.

Then Patrick’s walking away, back along the line of cherry blossoms, while David gently touches a finger to his lips and asks himself how he got so fucking lucky.

* * *

“David.”

Nothing changes immediately, which feels wrong to David. The sun doesn’t disappear behind a cloud; there’s no sudden northerly wind to chill him to the bone. But Sebastien is here now, so David feels cold all the same.

He hadn’t heard Sebastien approach, although admittedly he’s been in kind of a daze for the past few minutes. Now he feels as though he’s been dropped in the middle of the reservoir.

Sebastien sprawls on the bench, right where Patrick was sat a few minutes ago. He rests a long arm along the back of the bench, reaching for David without quite touching him, and David bristles.

“I’ve missed you”, he says, and David snorts.

“I’m not helping you, Sebastien.”

Sebastien tuts loudly, and it’s so patronizing David almost can’t believe it’s happened.

“You used to be so selfless, David. You couldn’t do enough for me”, he drawls. David doesn’t look at him but he can feel Sebastien’s whole body turned toward him even as they both look out over the water. “It’s a shame our time apart has made you selfish.”

“Would we call that selfish,” David snaps, “or is it just that I know my own worth now?”

“I’m hurt”, Sebastien says, “I have always known your worth, David, even when you didn’t. I know exactly how valuable you can be.”

“I told you months ago that I won’t do it”, David says. He wants this over. He wants Sebastien gone and for Patrick to come back and for this whole conversation to be blown away over the water, up and out of sight.

“That’s true. But months ago I didn’t know your friend Stevie had an aunt who was a fence.” Sebastien pauses, his eyes flicking over David’s face. He’s clearly looking for a reaction and David fights to keep his expression neutral, to not give Sebastien what he wants. “Did you know that? Her aunt would move… recently liberated items for people. And now Stevie’s taken over the business, so it’s kind of a coincidence that the same week you get hired by the Met, you go see her in person.”

David’s hands are shaking a little, more with anger than fear, and he grips his knees tightly. He doesn’t want Sebastien to see what he can do to David, how quickly he gets under David’s skin.

“That’s not - how did you -”

“You’re always so anxious. Always asking so many questions, tying yourself up in mundanities”, Sebastien says, “It’s aging you.” He reaches for David’s face then, brushing a thumb at the corner of David’s mouth. David can’t bear it, Sebastien sitting where Patrick was only moments ago, and he shoves himself away so he’s perched on the very end of the bench. His whole body feels like a live wire.

“I don’t want to help you”, David says, and he hates how small his voice is.

“You know,” Sebastien says as though he hasn’t spoken, “I think my favorite thing about this is the simplicity of it. We overcomplicate our lives with so many of society’s expectations, when really things can be far more straightforward.” David chances a look at him then, and Sebastien’s face is blank but his eyes are burning with intent as he says, “I still have evidence from last time, and a few things I’ve… acquired, with my own reinterpretation of your methods. We collaborate so beautifully, David, with my unfettered creative spirit and your. Hmm.”

He breaks off, and David isn’t sure if it’s intended as a deliberate insult or if Sebastien is simply distracted by his own pretension. Sebastien seems to be done either way, because he’s suddenly standing, looming over David. Now, at least, he’s blocking out the sun.

He strokes David’s face once, fingertips cold, and says, “So. You go to the Met and take what you’ve been hired to. And you bring me a little something else, as well. There’s a piece I think would really pull together this photographic project I’m developing, and I’d be so grateful if you were to help me get it.”

David holds himself very still.

“I’ll be in touch with the details, David, but I’d like it by Sunday afternoon if you can. And I don’t have any commitments next week so if you don’t come through I might go visit that little town, get to know Stevie better. She runs the motel with your dad, right? It would be so terrible if the rest of your family got mixed up in this after all they’ve been through.”

David can’t help it; he rears back at that. Panic burns in his throat, grips his stomach. It must show on his face as well because Sebastien smirks, just slightly, before he starts walking away.

“I’ll see you around”, he calls over his shoulder, and David is left sitting beneath the cherry blossoms and wondering what the fuck he’s supposed to do now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Okay, so  
> \- I can heartily recommend all the films referenced in this chapter apart from _Pretty Woman_ , which I don't really care for but David would probably love  
> \- In terms of art featured I have been fairly sparing with details but I was lucky enough to see those Mucha posters at an exhibit in Paris with @lovely_narcissa and they are stunning, I highly recommend seeing his work in the flesh if you're able! Also Van Gogh is wonderful although imo the London version of that painting is superior, sorry David  
> \- Boy howdy, it's so difficult to write about fashion and art from the perspective of someone who knows way more than you. I really hope I threaded that needle alright  
> \- I literally googled "places to see cherry blossoms New York" and the reservoir right by the Met was like the second result. Serendipity babey!
> 
> As ever, any remaining Britishisms are my fault and please let me know about any glaring mistakes!
> 
> Thank you so so much for reading! Comments and kudos are extremely lovely, or come say hi on Tumblr @flashbastard
> 
> Chapter title is from "My Last Tango" by Nerina Pallot. Spotify playlist is [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0WuTyMPgD4uqBSs04JzQlH)!


	8. hold steady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for all your lovely comments after the last chapter! I'm very grateful to be in such a friendly fandom
> 
> Chapter title is from "The Hold Tight" by Nerina Pallot - Spotify playlist can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0WuTyMPgD4uqBSs04JzQlH)!

It’s not that David doesn’t think about telling Patrick. That’s pretty much the first thing he wants to do, actually. After working together for months they’ve become used to being one another’s first port of call for just about everything; David’s instinct is to tell Patrick what’s happened with Sebastien.

But then Patrick comes back to him under the cherry trees with coffee  _ and _ donuts, as well as a smile so big David could lose himself in it, and he just… doesn’t. He doesn’t tell Patrick what’s happened, or why he doesn’t feel up to dinner that night, or that he feels like his heart has dropped into his stomach.

“It’s just a very stressful -”, David gestures vaguely when Patrick suggests they get pizza for dinner, “I might just go back to the hotel, try to fall asleep early. I need to finish planning. Things.”

“Sure”, Patrick says, and he only sounds a little off. David doesn’t let himself look at Patrick, concentrates instead on a smudge of powdered sugar on his index finger. He doesn’t think about it, just lifts his hand to his mouth and licks. He doesn’t realize what he’s done until he hears Patrick’s reaction, a sharp exhale that sounds like it’s been knocked out of him.

David does chance a look at Patrick at that, and he almost wishes he hadn’t. Patrick’s expression is slightly slack but for his eyes, which are dark and intense and fixed on David’s mouth. His own lips are parted and he reaches up, seemingly absent-mindedly, to brush a thumb back and forth over them.

God, David wants him.

“I was thinking,” Patrick says, voice slightly strained, “we should maybe, uh, take things slow? I’ve never done… this, before. With a guy.”

David doesn’t say anything, hesitates just a moment too long. Patrick must misinterpret it because he starts babbling: “But it’s not - David, I really like. Um. And I don’t want to rush this. But I think it’s important to be honest, so -”

David can barely hold back a laugh at that. It bubbles up in his throat, acrid and hysterical, and he has to force it back down. Because it’s… He wants to be honest with Patrick. He knows that’s the only way this has a chance, whether ‘this’ is working with Patrick or something more. And he desperately wants it to be something more.

David has been honest with Patrick, for the most part. Sometimes it happens without him meaning to be, little moments of vulnerability that slip out in their conversations over dinner or on jobs or, just once, in a tiny motel bathroom while Patrick talked him down from a panic attack. He’s been more honest with Patrick than is wise or safe, simply because Patrick makes it so easy to be. David remembers that night a few weeks ago when he’d all but confessed to Patrick that he was responsible for those earlier break-ins, how he hadn’t even realized that he’d done it until hours after. Patrick hasn’t done anything with that knowledge, as far as David’s aware, but it still makes David’s chest tighten a little to think of how well-equipped Patrick is to wreck him if he wants to.

Knowing that he can trust someone is not the same as letting himself do it.

And even without that lingering hesitation David can admit there’s a second selfishness at play here. Patrick has been grinning from ear to ear ever since they kissed, seems almost to be glowing with happiness. Every time David steals a glance at him Patrick is looking right back, honey-brown eyes warmed to a gentle golden color with so much fondness it makes David’s heart ache. His throat feels tight, like it’s trying to keep his own affection from spilling out of him, along with something else he’s not letting himself examine too closely.

Patrick looks so impossibly  _ happy _ , and David can’t be the one to take that away from him just yet.

So David blames the need to prepare for the break-in for how he suddenly pulls away from Patrick and hopes desperately that Patrick isn't too hurt by it. Although David wonders if that mightn't be better in the long run, to make Patrick think he isn't interested rather than start this and then abruptly end it. It was never going to work long-term anyway: David is always too much for people, long-term.

* * *

Alexis is already at the museum, having turned up a few minutes before closing at David’s request. She’s had an earpiece in since she left the hotel but they’ve been out of range for the most part, only able to hear her flirting with whichever poor security guard she’s attached herself to when they’re almost in sight of the Met.

“Oh my gosh, that sounds  _ so _ interesting”, Alexis says in his and Patrick’s ears, “When is your, um, improv group next performing? I would  _ love _ to see you.” David can almost see her twirling a lock of hair around her fingers, the way she’ll look up through her lashes to meet the guy’s eyes on the last word. He feels for the security guard a little: at least the guys Alexis usually goes for deserve it. This one’s just a case of wrong place, wrong time.

The plan is fairly simple, which David hopes will mean there’s not enough moving parts for any of them to go wrong. Then again, he’s relying on Alexis’ flirting for this to work, so it’s entirely possible that even if things don’t fall to pieces he’ll still lose his mind by the end of the night.

She's managed to pull it off so far, having slipped into the museum a half-hour before final admissions. She'd been leaning hard into the whole Valley Girl thing, floppy hat and oversized museum map at the ready. Big lost eyes, too, so nobody pushed too hard about why she'd ended up near the service corridor of the Costume Exhibition right before closing.

Nobody's pushed about the fact that the air conditioning mysteriously stopped working right about the same time, either.

“No, no”, Alexis is saying through his earpiece, “It's, like, the least I could do to keep you company for a bit after you helped me out. You are so sweet.”

David won't admit it but Alexis has been exactly what he's needed so far, slowing the security guard down just enough that the air conditioning issue went unnoticed until after the museum's maintenance team went home. They have an off-site engineer too, of course, but as the museum's closed for the night they won't be coming until early tomorrow morning. As it stands the basement floor of the museum has no air conditioning and security cameras that don't do well above room temperature.

David smiles.

He's still petrified, both by the thought of robbing the Met and by the whole clusterfuck of a situation with Sebastien, but he can't help but feel a little satisfaction at how this is all coming together.

“Just to be clear,” Patrick says beside him, and  _ God _ , David wants to kiss him in the moonlight, “you're not going to pretend to be an engineer and pull this off hiding in plain sight?”

He's teasing, David knows, because it's the same voice he's always used to tease David. They haven't kissed since yesterday afternoon, those two perfect, dreamlike moments under the cherry blossoms, and it doesn't really feel like much has changed between them yet. Patrick still teases David just the same as before. He still looks at David like he always has, eyes wide and soft and fond. It makes David feel simultaneously feather-light and heavy with guilt, and he wonders - since Patrick's been looking at him like this for weeks, if not months - how long they could have had this for.

Not that it matters, he supposes, since he's about to throw it all away.

“David?”, Patrick says gently, “Are you okay?”

“Fine”, David says, “Just - no, I am  _ not _ dressing up as an engineer, thank you so much. Can you imagine me in overalls?”

His voice is slightly unsteady, which he hopes comes across as just nerves. Patrick pretends to take his comment seriously, slowly dragging his eyes down the length of David's body, and. Well.

“I don't know”, Patrick says with a twist to his mouth that David wants to feel against every inch of him, “There's no reason you can't be an engineer and wear Rick Owens pants.”

“I'm sorry?”, David says, voice breathy because what the  _ fuck _ .

Patrick doesn't say anything immediately, just lets his lips quirk up further while David tries to process the fact that Patrick not only knows who Rick Owens is but can apparently identify his designs.

“I, um, I don’t…” David trails off, flustered.

“I do listen when you talk, David”, Patrick says and maybe he means for it to come across teasing but instead he sounds so gentle, so incredibly earnest, that David can only meet his eyes for a moment before he has to look away and swallow around the lump in his throat. They’re silent for a minute before Patrick coughs, rubbing at the back of his neck, and says, “Are you ready?”

_ No _ , David thinks. He shifts the strap of his bag on his shoulder, fidgets with his rings. Wishes he could calm his nervous hands by holding Patrick’s steady ones. He looks up at the night sky that’s never truly dark in New York, thinking about the stars he can’t see as clearly as he could in Schitt’s Creek. He takes a deep, shaking breath.

“I’m ready.”

* * *

Alexis was right - naturally; annoyingly - about the northeast corner door. It’s unlocked like she predicted, although David’s still on edge as he quietly eases it open and slips inside. He’d made sure to visit this part of the museum with Patrick, once he knew it would be his likely point of entry, and while there is a camera overhead it doesn’t catch him directly as he waits in the doorway, just on the edge of its periphery. He holds as still as he can, counting silently as it pans first to the left, then to the right. When he’s sure of exactly how long his blind spot lasts - eight seconds - he doesn’t let himself hesitate.

He moves.

He’s halfway down the corridor in what feels like no time at all, tucking himself in beside a pillar after only five seconds just in case he’s miscounted. The soft whir of the camera’s motor is loud in his ears and it’s easy to hear when it stops. He forces himself to wait another cycle of left to right, wanting to be sure, and only starts moving again when he knows his path is clear. It’s agonizing, moving in fits and starts like this. Knowing that every cycle increases the chance of losing track and ending up in full view of the cameras, that every pause gives the security guards a chance to come find him.

But David knows that it’s the safest option and the steady counting in his head - one-two-three-four-five, pause, move - seems somehow to have Patrick’s voice, reassuring and consistent as always. It helps, too, to know that Patrick is right there in his ear if he needs him.

It feels like an age before he reaches the steps that lead down toward the Costume Exhibition and once he’s there he has to fight the urge to race towards them. He paces himself as best he can, pressing himself close to the wall and edging, as quietly as he can, into the passage that leads him down to the basement.

“Patrick?”, he breathes.

“I’m here”, Patrick says immediately, “What do you need?”

His voice shakes almost imperceptibly and David knows in this moment that Patrick is in this just as much as him. Patrick’s nerves aren’t obvious in his voice - David is sure he would have missed them not long ago, because Patrick is trying so hard to sound confident and reassuring, entirely for David’s benefit. But David can hear it all the same, the way he fumbles just slightly at the start of his question. He feels calmer to know that Patrick is nearly as scared as him. He feels so much less alone, and almost pleased to think that he knows Patrick well enough to hear his fear when almost nobody else would.

“I just - I’m here”, David says, “I’m at the top of the stairs.”

He doesn’t say anything more but it turns out he doesn’t have to, because Patrick says, voice soft as anything, “I’m right here. I’ll still be able to talk to you down there, you said it yourself.”

David swallows down a gasp, his anxiety abating as Patrick speaks. Because that was exactly it; he didn’t want to go down there without hearing Patrick’s voice first, and Patrick just  _ knew _ . David closes his eyes.

“Whenever you’re ready”, Patrick says. David can picture his face so clearly, the trust clear in his warm brown eyes. Even when his voice seems unsteady his eyes are always so sure of David.

David nods, more to settle himself than anything else. It doesn’t really work so he tries it again, fighting to keep his breathing even. Patrick waits.

“Okay”, David says, and moves slowly down the stairs.

* * *

It’s warm in the Costume Exhibition.

He remembers it being slightly warmer than the rest of the museum anyway, presumably because it’s underground, but with the air conditioning out of action it’s quickly becoming stifling. It makes him feel even more anxious as he makes his way past the trio of Mucha portraits, their colors still vibrant in the low light. His movements are brisk, methodical; he’s grateful for the time he’s already spent here as he heads straight for his first target.

The costumes for  _ The Philadelphia Story _ look gorgeous even in this dim light. The white and gold of Katharine Hepburn’s dress seem almost to glow, but David’s eyes are drawn immediately to the jewels beside the gown. The low security lights suit the diamonds, more understated than anything else in this room but still gleaming brilliantly.

David moves so he’s as close to the display case as possible, so close that his breath fogs the glass. He closes his eyes for a moment, crouching down to see where the glass meets the floor. He gives himself a second to make sure he’s not visible to the cameras, then another second to brace himself.

Then he gets to work.

One benefit to robbing a temporary exhibition, rather than a permanent one, is that none of the security is designed to be too difficult to install or remove. The glass cases aren’t bolted to the floor. Instead there’s hinges along one corner, small enough that they’re not immediately obvious, and an unobtrusive lock where the glass is pressed along the museum wall.

Stevie and her mysterious contact came through with the alnico magnets; David doesn’t know exactly who it is, though he can only pray it’s not Roland. He holds the metal close to the lock, hoping that its magnetic field will disrupt the alarm system as Alexis promised.

He realizes he can still hear Alexis through his earpiece now his breathing has slowed enough to focus on things outside of his own body. She’s deep in conversation with the security guard, which is to say he’s telling her about the semi-autobiographical play he’s writing while she hums and giggles and, presumably, looks enchanted.

God, David’s going to owe her so big for this.

The lock itself is relatively simple, and David loses himself in it for a moment: the rhythm of teasing it open, holding his breath as he listens for the quiet  _ snick _ of the metal giving way to him. Everything else about this night is so terrifying to him, so alien, that this moment of familiarity feels oddly comforting.

The glass swings open silently and David catches it with the heel of his hand. He’s pulled the cuff of his sweater down just in case, and the cool touch of glass grounds him even as it's dulled by the fabric.

It's the easiest thing in the world to reach inside the display case and scoop first the bracelet, then the engagement ring, into his bag. He pauses for a moment but there’s no sound, no flashing lights. No sign that he’s triggered the alarms. He holds himself still for a minute more, thighs already aching a little as he crouches on the ground, then nudges the glass case shut. It’s unnecessary, sure, especially as he can’t lock it back up, but it seems untidy to leave the thing hanging open.

There’s only a few things in the exhibition insured by Thacker and Scott so David moves briskly through the next room, passing a line of impossibly glamorous costumes as he goes. He doesn’t stop until he’s face-to-face with his next target, a pair of earrings from  _ How to Steal a Million _ . They’re beyond ostentatious, really: almost a buta shape, easily two inches long and inlaid with some of the finest diamonds David’s ever seen. He can appreciate the craftsmanship but the size of them, as well as the jewels’ dazzling brightness, makes them almost too much. They’re beautiful, to be sure, but the kind of thing that even his mother would bypass in favor of something less likely to detract from the ensemble.

Getting to the earrings is trickier than he’d like. The costumes here are all behind one long sheet of glass, backed into a wall. The process of opening the case is the same as before, although his heart is still hammering the entire time. He’s vaguely aware of Alexis, complaining to the security guard about the time Justin Timberlake ghosted her in Monaco. It’s reassuring, rather than irritating. He’s glad that she’s here, safe within reach rather than halfway across the world. He’s glad that she’s here helping him, too.

He teases the glass case open and eases his way inside. It’s wide enough for people to climb in and install the pieces, but not particularly tall. He has to crouch a little to keep from hitting his head, all the while pressing himself close to the back wall. His back aches.

If possible, the earrings look even more spectacular up close. He can see the intricacies of them better now and for just a second he lets himself get lost in admiring the work. It’s a little like the Mucha portrait from the first room, he thinks, the way these small parts of a whole seem uniform from a distance. Now, less than a foot away, he can see that the diamonds are all slightly different from one another. They fit together perfectly, an impossibly expensive puzzle with a hundred tiny variations in cut or size or shine.

David doesn’t allow himself to linger. He gently lifts the earrings from their display pillow and deposits them in his bag, then slides back along the wall and out the way he came.

Officially that’s the end of his night. Three pieces, from two collectors, and he’s done.

Unofficially there’s still one more thing he needs to take.

He managed to talk Sebastien down from what he’d originally wanted, a brooch from  _ Marie Antoinette _ in the shape of two feathers crossed at their quills. It’s beautiful of course, and incredibly intricate, but beyond distinctive. Sebastien would never be able to use it in any of his art, David had told him, and the jewels are too small to have any value if they were to be split into smaller pieces. Not that anyone should do that, of course; the brooch really is a work of art. But he’d managed to change Sebastien’s mind, shifting his gaze to a matching necklace from the same ensemble. It’s less delicate than the brooch but still skillful. Diamonds of different shapes and sizes are laced together, encircling one another to form a simple pattern that’s repeated along the looping silver necklace. It’s objectively beautiful.

David hates it.

He doesn’t listen to Alexis’ voice as he unlocks this case. He doesn’t want to hear her, his little sister, putting herself at risk for him while he breaks the law. It’s for her - for their whole family - but that doesn’t ease the knot of guilt in his stomach. He remembers how she’d said that she didn’t want to go backward and wonders what she’d make of this. She might smile wanly and call it a moment of growth - openly prioritizing his family like this isn’t something he’s made a habit of - but he knows she’d be disappointed too.

He pushes that thought to the back of his mind and focuses on the position of the magnet in his hand.

“David?”

Patrick’s voice is soft, like he doesn’t want to spook David, but it’s still startling in the quiet of the museum.

“Fuck”, David hisses as he fumbles with his lockpick, “Fuck, I - what’s wrong?”

“Nothing”, Patrick says immediately, clearly trying to soothe David’s panic, “I wanted to check in, is all. It’s been a while.”

“Oh, right. Yes. I - it’s all fine, I’m just, um -”

“Are you still in the exhibit?”, Patrick asks, then teasingly continues, “You’re not stealing the  _ Pretty Woman _ necklace, are you?”

David presses his eyes shut against the tears he can feel building there. He can hear the laugh in Patrick’s voice, that warm, bright thread he noticed within moments of meeting Patrick. He’d thought at first that Patrick was laughing at him, but he knows better now. Patrick laughs because the very suggestion - that David would take something he wasn’t meant to - is ridiculous to him. He laughs because he enjoys David’s company. Sometimes he laughs because there seems to be too much happiness to stay inside of him, especially when David’s around, and it all comes spilling out.

David loves that sound. He’s going to miss it.

“Um, no thank you”, he says archly, “My color palette is very much silver, can you imagine me wearing gold jewelry?”

He’s aiming for the same teasing note as Patrick; he misses the mark somewhat. His voice shakes just a little too much, but maybe Patrick will chalk it up to the earpieces. Maybe Patrick won’t notice at all.

“Are you okay?”

So Patrick definitely noticed.

“Just want to be done with this”, David says shortly, and Patrick doesn’t say anything after that.

David swallows around the lump in his throat and slips his hand into the case, reaching past the feathered brooch to wrap his fingers around the silver and diamond necklace.

* * *

Getting out of the museum is far easier than it should be.

David heads back the way he came, a superstition that’s yet to steer him wrong. His heart is racing, screaming at him to get out as fast as he can, but he forces his feet to keep steady. He’s come too far to panic now.

He does his best to pace himself as he makes his way back through the exhibition. He counts in bursts of five seconds, pressing himself close to the wall as soon as he thinks he’s about to be seen. It’s the same as that first climb into Jenna Van Housen’s apartment - or rather, the climb out of it. He’s more anxious trying to leave than he was coming in. There’s still that nervousness, that certainty that he’s about to be caught that’s followed him since he set foot in the museum. His palms itch with fear and he’s suddenly fervently thankful he doesn’t have to climb anywhere to get out of here. But as well as that - worse, because it’s so unfamiliar to him - is the heavy knot of guilt in his stomach. It feels like a fist wrapped around his gut, squeezing tight and weighing him down. He’s never felt this before, even when he first did this years ago and he knew it was wrong. Now it’s all he can focus on: he’s done wrong and he knows it. Soon Patrick will know it, too, and Alexis, and Stevie, and -

Maybe that’s what’s different this time. He never really cared what people thought of him before, not like this. Now he’s got people in his life who he respects, who feel the same about him, and he knows he’s going to lose that when he throws all of this away because Sebastien’s been blackmailing him.

David hardly notices when his feet take him back to the exterior door, lost in the rhythm of avoiding cameras and his own spiraling anxiety. He stops abruptly in the blindspot he’d marked out earlier, breathing heavily. He’s too exposed here, really. Even without the camera he’s still at the intersection of two corridors and there’s every chance he’ll be seen. He knows he can’t wait long but he wants to all the same. As long as he’s still inside the museum he can pretend he hasn’t stolen anything he wasn’t supposed to. He can pretend he hasn’t given in to Sebastien.

It’s not true though, and he knows it, so he pushes the door ajar and slips out into the night.

* * *

David turns his phone back on as he walks back towards Fifth Avenue. There’s a text waiting for him.

**212-555-3425:** Bring me the necklace by noon Sunday. So looking forward to catching up with you x

He feels sick, anger and useless frustration bubbling up with nowhere to go. He can feel them turning inward and he doesn’t even try to tamp them down. Instead he lets himself wallow for a moment, hot tears burning his throat and stinging his eyes. In a way it feels good to let himself be lost like this, even if it’s only briefly. It’s melodramatic too, he’s pretty sure, but given his situation - and his mother - he thinks he should be allowed.

David squeezes his eyes shut, tipping his head back and breathing sharply through his nose as waves of exhaustion smack into him. He can’t even pinpoint what he’s feeling, beyond a bone-deep tiredness and a sense of how  _ unfair _ this is. There’s another rush of tears coming and he blinks hard, determined not to lose it right here on the sidewalk.

“David?”

For a moment he thinks it’s still through his earpiece, but then he gets the sense of someone near him, their presence clear even with his eyes shut tight. He blinks them open slowly.

Patrick stands in front of him, one arm outstretched. He’s not all that close, as though he doesn’t want to scare David, but his hand hovers a few inches from David’s arm. His eyes are intense and dark in the low light, and they don’t waver when David meets his gaze.

“David, are you okay?”

He clearly isn’t, and Patrick seems to take his lack of reply as answer enough because he suddenly pulls David into a hug. It’s awkward, because neither of them quite know where to put their arms and David is barely holding back tears, but it’s so exactly what he needs that he lets himself savor it anyway. He loses himself in the fresh, clean scent of Patrick. He wants to commit all of it to memory: the warm huff of Patrick’s breath against his neck, the way his shampoo tickles David’s nose. The wool acrylic blend of Patrick’s sweater itches David’s palms, but even that is tolerable right now.

Too soon, David forces himself to pull away. Patrick clears his throat.

“Shall we wait for Alexis, or do you want to go straight back to the hotel?”, he asks. There’s no hint of a preference in his voice as, yet again, he lets David decide. God, David loves him.

Fuck.

It’s not a shock to think, particularly. It feels like the end of a sentence he’s been trying to keep himself from finishing for a long time. Once he’s thought it he can’t unthink it, can’t deny its truth: David loves him, and tomorrow he’s going to lose him.

He swallows around the lump in his throat.

“Um, can we head back? It turns out that robbing one of the most famous art museums in the world is kind of exhausting. And Alexis hitchhiked home from Nashville when she was, like, a junior in high school, so. She’ll be fine.”

Patrick just looks at him, eyes so loud that David can feel their affection even in the dim light, and says “Whatever you want, David”, before leading them back toward the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are extremely lovely, or come say hi on Tumblr @flashbastard


	9. your burdens will be shared

David wakes early.

He’s slept fitfully all night, a combination of adrenaline and guilt keeping him from anything close to restful sleep. There's still a knot in his stomach, still that lump in his throat. He’s exhausted, physically and emotionally, because they didn’t get back from the Met till close to two in the morning, and even then sleep hadn’t come to him easily.

He’d toed off his shoes and dropped his bag on the nightstand, then laid on top of the comforter. He’d shuffled in his spot in the center of the bed, then moved to the left, then the right. His eyes had flicked over to the door again and again, lids heavy but still not able to let him escape into sleep. Every time he got close he’d hear a siren on the street below, or the quiet hum of the elevator, and feel certain he’d already been discovered. He thinks he might have dozed a little, but he always jolted awake before long, fingertips tingling with the remembered cold of that necklace as he’d slid it into his bag.

He wakes at one point when the sun is just starting to graze his windowsill, a wan yellow seeping into his room. He rolls over and faces the other way.

When he next wakes the sun is out in full force, filling the room with a gorgeous buttery light that seems to taunt him. David thinks of how that color seems to light Patrick up from within. He thinks of the way his hair can look auburn in this light. He thinks of Patrick’s trusting voice over the earpiece last night, teasing even as David threw that trust away.

Noon Sunday, Sebastien had told him. This seems as good a time as any.

David dresses quickly, pulling his leather jacket from the hotel wardrobe. It feels odd to slip it over his shoulders now. As though it doesn’t quite fit.

He hasn’t dressed like this in months. He doesn’t look like the person Patrick knows right now.

David’s legs feel heavy as he reaches for his bag. His palms itch as he shifts its strap on his shoulder. The weight of the necklace feels tangible against his hip, even through the fabric.

David opens his hotel room door.

Patrick is waiting on the other side of it.

His jaw is tight: David can see the muscles working. He’s angry in a way David hasn’t seen in a long time, if ever. Maybe that first day, when David snuck into Jenna Van Housen’s apartment and Patrick had nearly given up on him straight away. Patrick had clearly been furious at one point, although that turned out to be directed at Jenna rather than David. David hadn’t known, then, how to read the minutiae of Patrick’s expressions, had only registered tension and inarticulate frustration and had assumed they were intended for him.

It’s worse now.

David can read his face clear as anything. Patrick’s angry with David and David deserves every ounce of it. The dread in his stomach grows, wrapping its hand around his lungs.

“Hi, David”, Patrick says tersely.

David doesn’t say anything - doesn’t know what to say - just steps aside and lets Patrick move past him into the hotel room. He’s anxious as well as angry, rubbing at the webbed skin between his thumb and forefinger. He doesn’t speak to David at first, just pulls at the skin there over and over.

“So my boss got a call this morning”, he says abruptly. He still isn’t looking at David. “From the curator of the Met Exhibition.”

The sound David makes is quiet, a voiceless _oh_ that he’s sure conveys his panic. But it seems loud in this hotel room, when Patrick’s anger lies heavy like velvet over everything it touches.

He looks at David now. His eyes are huge and intense in his pale face, boring into David’s. David wants so badly to break his gaze. But Patrick is looking at him, and he keeps looking, and David knows he won’t escape facing this by simply looking away. So he screws up all his courage.

“I’m sorry.”

He isn’t expecting the words before he opens his mouth, isn’t expecting them even as he says them, voice low and breathy like they’ve been punched out of him. They seem not quite to fit his mouth, or maybe he doesn’t fit them. He’s not had a lot of practice when it comes to apologizing and meaning it. But he means it now, desperately, and he needs Patrick to know that.

Patrick’s face freezes for a moment, then goes taut. His hands still shift with agitation but his eyes seem less angry. He works his jaw - once, twice - and David watches as his mouth twists unhappily.

“I don’t - I don’t understand.”

David exhales shakily. Patrick’s voice is small and soft now, closer to David’s own. He sounds fragile. All the anger seems to have leached out of him, leaving a vacuum of quiet that has David’s ears ringing. He doesn’t respond immediately, not knowing what to say. Needing to get it right.

“Sebastien”, David says, and stops. It sounds so insufficient said out loud.

“Right”, Patrick says, “But you weren’t - you weren’t working with him all along.” It isn’t phrased as a question but there’s just enough uncertainty there that David’s stomach twists anyway.

“ _No_ ”, David says firmly. It’s still not enough, but he needs Patrick to understand how unwillingly he’s been pulled into this. How desperately he wanted to tell Patrick, to ask for Patrick’s help.

“You could have told me.”

David’s eyes sting at that.

“You would have seen me differently”, he says, but Patrick’s mouth twists unpleasantly.

“And I don’t see you differently now?”

David doesn’t say anything at first. He can’t. He feels winded, as though the very core of him is at once too heavy and completely empty. Patrick regrets it immediately, that much is obvious from the way his eyes widen and the tips of his ears flush red. But he still said it.

“I - I’m sorry, David, I didn’t mean -”

He did mean it, of course, even if only for a moment. He knows David so well now. All he had to do was pick a bruise and press.

The room is quiet then, neither of them sure what to say to make it better. David can hear people heading along the corridor towards his room, and he tenses despite himself.

“They haven’t called the police yet”, Patrick says, “The curator rang my boss and she - I guess they hoped it was a misunderstanding.”

David nods, humming softly more for something to do than as an actual response. He doesn’t feel fully present in the hotel room. Instead he feels caught somewhere between this moment and last night, the split second before he stepped outside of the Met and made this conversation an inevitability.

Knowing it was coming hasn’t made it any easier.

“He threatened my family”, David says quietly, “Stevie, too. He could have implicated them in all of it going back months.” Patrick as well, David knows now. There’s no way he won’t be suspected.

“Was it just this one?”, Patrick asks. It stings to hear, but it’s a fair question.

David nods. Then, knowing he has to be honest, he says, “He came to see me in Central Park. After - after we, um. But he first tried to get me involved months ago. Around the time we met.” It feels awful to say out loud: articulating the secret he’s kept almost the entire time they’ve known each other. It doesn’t make him feel better. It doesn’t lessen the weight on his shoulders.

Patrick’s ears are still pink, and there’s two bright spots of color high on his cheeks. The rest of his face is pale though, and his eyes are dark and huge. He looks as though he might cry.

“You should have told me”, he says to David, voice desperate, “At least so I wouldn’t have found out from my boss that someone I lo-” He cuts himself off, working his jaw.

David’s ears are ringing.

“I’m sorry”, he says eventually. Patrick doesn’t look at him.

David takes a deep steadying breath. It doesn’t work, so he takes another. He knows it’s a mistake straight away - he can feel himself slipping towards a panic attack - but in that moment it’s all he can think to do. He counts to four in his head, and it’s Patrick’s voice he hears.

When he feels at least a little more himself, David crosses to the table beside his bed and fishes through the middle drawer. His bag is there, still heavy with jewels from last night. He sets it down on the bed, careful of the jewelry but wanting suddenly - desperately - to be rid of the whole thing.

“It’s in there”, he says, “The necklace. You can take it back yourself. Or I can take it, hand myself in. If that’s easier.”

“No”, Patrick says. He still isn’t looking at David; his eyes are fixed instead on the bag. David’s heart sinks. It must show in his body language because Patrick turns at last to look at him, although his eyes still don’t meet David’s. “Not like that”, he says urgently, “I just meant - obviously we should get these things back to the museum. But he shouldn’t be allowed to walk away from this, David.” He’s looking David in the eye now, gaze scorching. “Are you sure Sebastien was behind those break-ins when we first met?”

“Yes”, David says. Patrick nods, looking thoughtful.

“Then we need to find some proof.”

* * *

It soon becomes quite clear that Patrick would be a terrible criminal mastermind. He’s focused, just as David knew he would be, and his mind is methodical as they talk through their options. But he’s too easily drawn off course by ways it could go wrong. His concern for David is both obvious and, to be frank, endearing, but it keeps him from building a plan the whole way through.

Alexis, on the other hand, is exactly how David knew she would be.

“Stevie’s on the next flight out”, she says with a shimmy as she hangs up the phone, “She’s bringing me Robin and Lorna, so we should have a few options.”

“You can’t pull off either of those”, David says, wrinkling his nose, “Lorna makes your forehead look too big.”

“Oh my God, David, I was thirteen. Everyone needs time to grow into their forehead!”

“Why is Stevie even bringing you wigs? Sebastien’s seen your face a thousand times.”

“No offence to Stevie, but I feel like she wouldn’t be super great at, like, tricking Sebastien into handing over tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of jewelry. Whereas I,” Alexis says with a flick of her hair, “had three and a half full acting classes and am therefore extremely qualified for anything subterfugey.”

Patrick makes a noise that might be a laugh at that, and David can feel himself fighting a smile. Even so he’s adamant that Alexis shouldn’t do this. He doesn’t love the thought of Stevie doing it either, but at least there’s less of a chance that Sebastien will recognize her.

“I can’t ask you to do this”, David says, but Alexis is already shaking her head.

“You’re not asking, David, I’m offering.”

“It’s not my turn to take a selfish”, he says, biting his lower lip.

“Well, you can just owe me if it would make you feel better. But honestly... you’re my brother. I would never make you take a selfish when you really needed me.” David squints a little at that, and she rolls her eyes at him. “Anymore. I wouldn’t do that anymore. I’m, like, way more altruistic now.”

David looks at Patrick, willing him to talk to Alexis since his own attempts have been fruitless. Patrick’s eyes are already on him and he looks almost as uneasy as David feels.

“I think your brother might have a point,” Patrick says to Alexis, “since Sebastien already knows you. And if Stevie’s coming here anyway, wouldn’t it make more sense for her to be the one to meet with him?”

Alexis pouts, her eyebrows knitting together.

“But I want to help”, she says petulantly. It would be funny, David thinks, if he didn’t find it almost embarrassingly moving.

“And you can help”, Patrick says, “You can coach Stevie when she gets here. But I think David would feel better knowing you weren’t putting yourself even more at risk.” His eyes flick back to David as though checking his reaction, and David can only imagine what his face is doing. Because Patrick is exactly right but that doesn’t mean David has to like hearing his feelings laid out like that. Especially by somebody else. He doesn’t try to twist it or manipulate Alexis; he’s matter of fact, which David is grateful for even as he finds it uncomfortable.

Alexis seems to feel the same because she scrunches her nose for a moment before nodding.

“Okay”, she says, then brightens. Her face splits into an unselfconscious grin. “Oh, that’ll be fun! I can, like, fix her wig and be her own personal Stanislavski!”

* * *

The whole thing falls into place alarmingly quickly once Stevie arrives. Alexis makes her up in Lorna, a shoulder length auburn wig - “Magdalena would have suited her better”, David notes critically - but Stevie draws the line at the Derek Lam dress Alexis offers her.

“I would look I lost a bet”, she says, which David can’t really argue with. She looks uncomfortable enough at just the suggestion.

“Ugh, fine”, Alexis says, “I just think you’d have more luck with a kind of breezy, boho chic look, rather than -” She cuts herself off, running an appraising eye over Stevie.

“Rather than what?”, Stevie says flatly. 

“Um, sure”, Alexis says, “I think this is a very cute look for you, actually. Understated. Like, rural girl who’s new to the big city.”

Stevie still doesn’t look thrilled by this assessment, but she and Alexis seem to have already agreed that they’re going to do more or less whatever’s needed to fix this for David. He finds it touching, to be sure, to the point where he’s almost awed by how grateful he is to have the two of them here. But it’s uncomfortable too. He trusts them to do their job well, but he can’t shake the feeling of guilt that they’re having to do it at all.

It's simple enough, playing on Sebastien's obsession with beautiful things and his inability to keep from showing off. David isn't sure if the stolen jewels will be at his apartment or his studio - or possibly somewhere else altogether - but Stevie's going to have the _Marie Antoinette_ necklace to plant on him, and that should be evidence enough.

It should be enough. It's got to be enough.

The anxiety doesn't leave David over the course of the afternoon. He's snappish, he knows, respectively dismissive and mocking of Stevie and Alexis' reassurances. Patrick says almost nothing at all, just watches David as he works himself up into a panic. David keeps his distance for the most part, but Patrick's eyes are on him every time he looks over. He doesn't look particularly angry, David thinks - hopes - but he definitely looks focused. Determined.

All too soon it's eight 'o' clock, and David watches as Stevie adjusts her wig and Alexis fits their earpieces. Then the pair of them are heading out of his hotel room and off to Broome Street, to a bar Sebastien routinely lounges around in on Saturday nights.

“They’ll be fine”, Patrick tells him. He’s stood so close to David, one hand hovering in the air as though he was reaching out to touch him. The touch never comes though. Instead Patrick’s hand drops awkwardly to his side. David can’t look away from him. It feels ridiculous to be this distracted. They’ve been together almost every day for months; they’ve spent hours sitting in Patrick’s car driving from town to town. They’ve slept in the same bed, for fuck’s sake. But this is the first time they’ve been alone together without any secrets between them and now, at last, that weight feels like it’s been lifted from David’s shoulders.

Patrick’s eyes are roaming his face but avoiding meeting David's gaze. He doesn't seem tense, exactly, but he's clearly deep in thought. His thumb is moving in small circles on his thigh, and David wonders if Patrick is trying to calm himself or if he's just preoccupied. He hopes it's the latter: Patrick's certainty that Stevie and Alexis will be safe is the only thing keeping David from spiraling right now.

“I wish I’d told you earlier”, David tells him eventually, not wanting to start a fight but unable to bear the silence. The words stick in his throat but he needs Patrick to understand that he didn’t want this secret between them, not for a second.

“I mean, I definitely wish you’d done that, too”, Patrick smiles at him, a little wry. But his eyes are serious as he says, “I would have helped you, David. You have to know by now I - I’d do just about anything you ask me to.”

“Well. That is… a really lovely thing to say.” The sincerity is dragged out of him, but he knows Patrick deserves to hear it.

“I understand, though”, Patrick says, “Or I'm trying to. I know that trusting people doesn't come easily to you, and - and I respect that. But I really hope you can trust me because -” he breaks off, worrying his bottom lip. His eyes are so warm. “Because I'm in love with you.”

David can't breathe. He feels like his whole body is in stasis, caught in the split second before Patrick spoke.

“And I don't - I don't expect you to say it back or - or jump into anything. But I really hope that kiss the other day isn't all there is for us. I want a relationship with you.”

Patrick doesn't look away from David as he speaks. David watches his beautiful mouth shape each impossible word, listens to him stumble a little but always, always right himself. His voice is steady and without a hint of doubt. The only hesitation seems to be in wanting to make himself clear. Until -

“If… if that’s what you want.”

_If that’s what you want_.

Patrick has always given David a choice. Every conversation they have, every decision they make, he makes sure David knows that this is a partnership of equals. David can’t remember when he first noticed Patrick doing it; he only knows that he feels grateful for it every time. It’s considerate of Patrick, to be sure, but it seems to come naturally to him. It would never occur to him to treat David any other way. And it’s that realization that lets David feel sure he’s safe here, now. With Patrick.

“Yes”, he says, “Yes, I - I want that too.”

Patrick’s face splits into a smile. It’s instant and utterly transformative. He seems suddenly lighter, and David feels the same just looking at him.

“I - are you sure?”, Patrick asks eagerly. He has to fight through the grin as he speaks.

David can’t wait another moment. He leans forward, one hand cupping Patrick’s head as he presses their lips together.

Their third kiss is easily his favorite so far. Patrick keeps his eyes fixed on David, dark and hungry, until the last moment. Then his gaze drops to David’s mouth, or maybe his eyes close completely - David can’t be sure, because his whole brain more or less checks out pretty quickly, much more focused on how _right_ it feels to be here, so surrounded by Patrick.

Patrick’s mouth is soft and warm and David wants to lose himself in it. His lips move gently against David’s, not exactly moving against him, but not moving with him either. It’s like he’s teasing David even now. Maybe that’s why this feels so instantly familiar.

Patrick’s hands reach for him tentatively. He doesn’t seem exactly unsure: it’s more like he’s testing the waters to see what gets a reaction. Trying to work out what David likes without being forceful. The thought is so very Patrick - considerate and steadfast - that David can’t help but smile into the kiss.

One of Patrick’s hands comes to rest lightly on David’s hip. It’s the gentlest pressure but it still sets David’s blood humming. Through his sweater it’s more an abstract sense of touch than anything specific, and he shifts a little, pressing his hip against Patrick’s fingers. Patrick gasps into David’s mouth, his hand tightening its grip, and David lets out a satisfied hum.

The sound seems to spur Patrick on, because suddenly he’s everywhere. The hand he’d left floating awkwardly between them rests briefly on David’s shoulder, thumb brushing his collarbone. Then his hand is slipping up, up, into David’s hair, carding through the short strands before tugging gently.

The world drops away, David aware only of Patrick’s fingernails scratching gently at his scalp. He makes a high, desperate noise, which he’d be embarrassed by if Patrick didn’t respond instantly in kind. Patrick pushes closer to him, deepening the kiss. He tastes of honey and ginger, like David knew he would. It makes him think of sunshine and sharp, teasing smiles. It makes him think of a golden wheatfield immortalized on canvas, and a shade of blue he didn’t think could possibly be real.

Patrick’s hair is soft beneath David’s hand, tickling the pads of his fingertips. It’s not enough. David needs to anchor himself somehow, to know that Patrick will keep him steady. His hand falls to Patrick’s shoulder while the other flutters uselessly for a moment before landing on Patrick’s arm. It’s reassuringly solid, at least until David realizes there’s only Patrick’s thin shirt separating his own hand from Patrick’s warm skin, and that sets him spiraling again.

Patrick smiles against his mouth, breathing heavily. David pulls away, reluctant, and rests his forehead against Patrick’s.

“We don’t have to -”

“I want -”

Patrick huffs a soft laugh. David feels it brush against his lips.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight”, he tells Patrick. He wants Patrick, of course. He’s wanted him for months, and kissing him hasn’t lessened that desire for a moment. It's sharpened it, if anything. Wanting Patrick is a tangible thing now. He has Patrick in his arms, Patrick is still running gentle fingers through the hair at the nape of David's neck, and David wants him more, not less.

Still. Patrick is new to this, and David is too, in some ways, and he doesn't want to push. He wants to have this - to have Patrick - for as long as he can. This is already too good to lose.

“No, I know”, Patrick says, “And if you don't want to do anything tonight then I’m fine with that. But I’ve wanted this for months. David, I - I’ve wanted you for months.”

“Okay”, David says. It’s quiet as anything, barely more than a breath, but he knows the smile is loud in his voice. And from the answering grin he's sure that Patrick's heard it. “Well, then. In that case. I… I don't object to, um. Continuing with this?” He's stumbling and uncertain, turning statements into questions in that way he's so often been told is irritating, but Patrick just smiles at him.

“Good”, he says, soft grin tipping into something heavier. His eyes are hungry, pupils blown wide. His lips look darker than usual, kissed a gorgeous deep pink. He looks incredible, and all David can think through his dizzy joy is, _I did that_.

Then Patrick leans back in to kiss him again, and David doesn't think anything much for a while.

* * *

Later, David stands in the hotel bathroom, ostensibly to freshen up and run through his skincare regimen. In reality he keeps finding himself distracted by his own reflection.

He can't believe how _happy_ he looks. His whole face is soft and loose, constantly slipping into a giddy smile. It spreads slowly each time. His upper lip curls in a way that isn't remotely flattering but he can't bring himself to care.

His phone buzzes on the counter.

**Stevie:** done

**Stevie:** including that mother of pearl set you wanted

**Stevie:** which no offence i dont think is rly patricks style

**Stevie:** if anyone asks you owe me big

**Stevie:** also this guy is a creep

He rolls his eyes, fondly frustrated even as he can feel the tension leaching out of his body.

**David:** tysm for your much-needed input on my dating history

**David:** and for everything else. thank you, Stevie

She doesn’t respond immediately, and when she does it’s exactly what he should have expected.

**Stevie:** ugh

**Stevie:** any time

David huffs a soft, fond laugh, and turns to leave the bathroom. His reflection smiles at him again as he reaches for the light.

Patrick is perched on the edge of David’s bed, fidgeting with a corner of the comforter. His head is tipped down, gaze fixed on the carpet, and David can see the beginnings of a hickey peeking out above the collar of his undershirt. Something blooms in David’s chest at the sight, which he resolutely chalks up to smugness and refuses to inspect further. That can wait until tomorrow morning.

“Hey”, Patrick says, scrambling to his feet. He looks happy, David thinks. Hopes. He doesn’t look regretful, at least, so David shoves that thought to the side and smiles at him.

It’s the right thing to do. Patrick immediately smiles back, the corners of his mouth tipping down in that gorgeous, delicate shape David’s come to love. God, he loves him. It’s easy to think it, now he’s realized. He just wishes it were easy to say.

“Hi”, he says quietly, “Stevie says it’s done.” His mouth twists and he has to look away from Patrick.

“Good”, Patrick says, “That’s good. I just got an email from my boss about an anonymous tip, so. That’s good.”

They fall back into silence for a moment, and something in David’s stomach twists. Maybe Patrick does regret this. Maybe this was too much, too soon. Maybe he needs time to himself and wants to make a graceful exit, or -

“I wasn’t sure if - you’re probably exhausted, I can go back to my room if you want, or -”

“Stay”, David says with certainty in his voice. And Patrick stays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Heaven Helped Us" by Nerina Pallot - Spotify playlist can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0WuTyMPgD4uqBSs04JzQlH)!
> 
> Comments and kudos are extremely lovely, or come say hi on Tumblr @flashbastard. I also have Discord and am extremely down to talk about _Schitt's Creek_ whenever
> 
> Final chapter will be up next week! Thank you so so much for taking the time to read this.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'm on Tumblr @flashbastard - come say hi!


End file.
